


Exercises in Fruitfulness

by ThisisVenereVeritas



Series: Making the Most of a Vague Prophecy [1]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Borderline Magnus, Borderline Personality Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s04 The Doomstar Requiem, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, god powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25901554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisVenereVeritas/pseuds/ThisisVenereVeritas
Summary: It’s been several months since the events of Doomstar, and Toki and Magnus are no where closer to talking about the events that took place in the basement. Only, now Toki is, and after spending a drunken night together, decides to use music as a potential means to reach out and hopefully communicate with a hesitant Magnus.Meanwhile, Magnus deals navigating around his past mistakes, making a living and facing his rapidly developing feelings for the younger man, all while trying to come up with some original music.
Relationships: Magnus Hammersmith/Toki Wartooth
Series: Making the Most of a Vague Prophecy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027201
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Magnus wakes up to discover he survived his suicide attempt.

The last thing Magnus remembered before the darkness took over was the warmth pouring from his chest. The knife slipped from his grasp ages ago, and was nothing more than a stale glimmer in his dwindling peripheral. Magnus focused on the hunting knife, even after he was sure he’d reached the point of no return, when his body could no longer carry the burden of keeping him upright, and the vision in his good eye gave under to the deepening fog, he fought to keep his sight on that blasted knife that he held on for so damn long, only to curse himself for wasting all this time. His vision faded, and it got so cold, so painfully cold. He lacked the desire to fend it off, the will to shiver and plead for his life, and remained coiled on the floor, the only inclination of his instinctual need for survival being his hands clenching tightly to his self-inflected wound, the only warmth he felt.

Then he woke up.

Pain brought him back to the world of living. Magnus woke up to the sound of a monitor rapidly beeping as he reached for the source of his agony, clawing at bandages that covered his chest. It took three nurses to bring him down. During his panic, Magnus turned to his left and saw a fourth inject something into his IV bag, and within moments the pain and confusion racing through his body was drowned by whatever opioid they fed him. They left him just conscious enough to quietly watch and take in the sad reality of his actions. A nurse checked his bandages. Another, the monitor. Someone called him a survivor. When Magnus heard the word, he wanted to laugh. He couldn’t.

He was too doped up to do anything about it, but sober enough to take in the midday light breaking through the window. It stretched far enough to reach the foot of his bed, where it coated Magnus with the first comforting sensation he’d experienced since his embracing his own death. Once Magnus registered the sun’s heat, his eyes welled. It was completely accidental. Magnus didn’t mean for it to happen, only that he couldn’t stop it all from erupting once the warmth pushed through the blanket, soaking his core and making him realize just how cold, how utterly helpless he’d become.

He failed.

Imagine that. He stabbed himself in the bloody heart, and he lived. How? Just how the fuck does anyone screw up a knife to the heart? Hell, not even a knife to the heart! That insane masked assassin had skewered and left him hanging. Bastard did half the work for him, and Magnus still lived through it.

As if that realization wasn’t enough, he was hardly given time to reflect on his failure when he was approached by the klokateers. They appeared from the shadows on his left, some carrying papers, others armed with weapons. Admittedly, the sight of their black executioner hoods struck fear. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of Dethklok’s existence, of his time spent locked in a basement and torturing Toki, of reliving his terrible mistakes. Not again.

He watched the group split into two rows, making way for a klokateer carrying a tray with a stuffed bear and card resting on top. The klokateer carefully handed him the bear, then the get-well card. Each slipped from Magnus’ less than willing grasp, threatening to slide off the hospital sheets and fall to the floor were it not for the extreme dedication brought on by Dethklok’s obsessive fanbase. 

It was by the grace of Toki Wartooth that he was alive. The klokateers made sure Magnus knew this as they continued to explain the situation. Apparently, he’d achieved in furthering the damage started by the masked assassin and by all accounts should have died from his fatal wounds; however, it was Dethklok’s wish that his body be recovered, and once it was discovered, they found that he was still somehow clinging to life. At Toki’s request, he was put on life support. They kept him induced in a coma, placing his life on hold until they could locate a freshly deceased klokateer with the right blood type and a healthy heart to replace the valves and tissues he had destroyed. After his surgery, he remained induced for another month, allowing the wound to heal without his pesky existence getting in the way.

Everything was already paid for, and once the Doctor gave Magnus the go-ahead, could leave on his own accord. There would be no lawsuit, no indictment or trial. Dethklok didn’t see a need, given that they believed Magnus had “learned his lesson,” as well as the fact that no one wanted to bring anymore “unwanted attention” towards the band. Keep it all undercovers. Under wraps. In the shadows, where Magnus was already so accustomed and familiar with. Of fucking course.

Again, it was quite laughable. There was no end to the joke.

They left as soon as they had arrived, leaving Magnus more fatigued than he had been before their unannounced arrival.

He had no greater desire than to sleep the rest of the day away, but with Dethklok looming over him, it was impossible. Just thinking about what he’d seen that night… what the hell even was that? Those terrifying lights! Magnus shut his eyes, but could see the flashing red igniting from the sky etches in his right, shining its unholy light on Dethklok before crashing and filling the room with its incredible force. It was inexplicable; Magnus still couldn’t believe what he’d seen, only that what happened was real.

Magnus grabbed at his chest as a sharp pain seared through him. Too fast, he thought. He needed to calm down, find something to distract himself.

He rolled over on his left, and spotted the stuffed animal and card the klokateers had left on small table. Magnus wanted nothing more than to toss the stuffed bear that mocked him with its blank, cutesy stare, and that horrific card covered in fluff and feathers and glitter. How childish, and so very like Toki. A fucking teddy bear? Did Toki think he was a damn child? Did he really think he’d just happy accept such a gift? Maybe embrace during those long, silent nights? Is that what he thought? And that stupid card. Did Toki make it himself, or did he appoint some kindergartener to craft it in his stead? Magnus could tell by its atrociously vibrant, childish design that he’d hate it. It was made of colorful construction paper. There were two white feathers randomly sticking out from it, and though it remained still, had managed to cover the entire area surrounding it with bits of glitter. Magnus could only imagine the schlock written within it. If it was anything like the rest of the card, it was likely written in crayon.

Magnus snickered inwardly as he stretched his lead-heavy arm out to snatch the card from the stand. It took three tries. He pulled himself upright, bringing himself into a sitting position before the exhaustion became too much. His heart never felt so weak, so pathetically overworked over such a menial task. Was it just the heart? Was the it the opioids? Was it him?

After a minute, he brought up the card, sneering when he saw some glitter residue fall and scatter across his blankets as he raised it up to read its contents.

He opened the card and was greeted with a white, cotton ball rabbit gleaming up at him. Well, that explained the feathers. It was still juvenile, though Magnus had to admit it wasn’t nearly as offensive to his eyes as he thought it would be. Still stupid, though.

Magnus glanced on the other side, expecting to see a messy essay, but was welcomed with surprisingly decent penmanship, and just a few short sentences. Unexpected, but Magnus quickly summed it up as Toki’s way of simply moving on. Yes, that was it. Why on earth would he write sentence after sentence? What was there to say– _well,_ Magnus could easily some up with a few complaints, but that didn’t mean Toki would immediately want to share his feelings about _everything_ that happened. Why would he? Toki probably already had that out of his system. Dethklok probably had a set of professional therapists, doctors and the like. Toki had all the help he needed. No reason to talk about something he was already over. If anything, the card was just proof of that. And what did it matter, _anyways,_ what was on the stupid card? Magnus didn’t like the card, anyhow. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

The pain returned. Magnus closed the card and brought a hand to his chest, feeling another dull sting sear across his body. He thought it was his heart. After some seconds, he realized it wasn’t the case.

He was scared.

Magnus glanced down at the miserable little card resting on the sheets. Fuck, was he really afraid of a few sentences? 

_He probably just wants to let you know he paid for everything, and to be grateful about it._

Yes, that was most likely it. Sure, there was also likely to be a “I never want to see your miserable face again for as long as I live,” but Magnus was used to that. He could handle one more of those, even from Toki. Shit, if anything, he should expect it from Toki.

When he tore open the card, saw one of the white feathers fall from the rabbit, a deep regret filled his otherwise hollowed soul. He placed the feather aside and carefully read the few sentences Toki wrote. It was short, sweet and to the point. Toki wished him well, to “get betters” and he hoped for a speedy recovery, yada yada and…. _and_ he wanted to see him again, soon.

Magnus lingered over the last sentence. Toki wanted to see him. Why?

It happened so suddenly. He brought a hand to cover his mouth. He shook, his other hand clung selfishly to the card as he heard Toki’s voice begin to echo over his own thoughts, and he saw that lopsided smile and pale blue eyes staring up at him, those hands clinging to his arms like some lost child. The very same man that he forced to walk on all fours once. The same man he dragged and chained to radiator, verbally tormented and tortured on a near-daily basis. Why would Toki want anything to do with his miserable, worthless self after everything he put him through?

Throat tightening, Magnus coughed a few unhappy shudders before finally dropping to the end of the letter. 

_Your friend, Toki._

How was it a mere single word could carry so much weight? And underneath it was Toki’s number, written plain as day.

He’s too gullible, Magnus thought. No one should be that trusting. Didn’t Toki learn a damn thing while he was abducted? You can’t trust just anyone…

Magnus sniffed. It hurt. Those words hurt so much. The feelings they induced, forced Magus to face: it all hurt too much.

A part of him wished he had a phone, the other wanted to take the card and toss it into the trashcan and pretend he never saw it.

You have no right, he thought. No right to call him, or tell him how sorry he was. No point in trying to beg for forgiveness. There was nothing he could say that could possibly make it right. That’s why he tried killing himself. When words fail, it’s time for action. Only thing he could do to make things right was kill himself. Give everyone that comfort of knowing he was gone, that he would never pose a threat again. Disappear. Vanish. Just…die. 

Magnus held his breath as he took the card and crumbled it in his hands. A mild pain flicked across his wrist as the second feather-ear snapped, bouncing out of the card and grazing him before drifting towards the hospital floor. He glared at the rough ball he created, watched as glitter bled from the card and all over his hands as he let it drop to his left. Out of sight, out of mind. The ruined card hit the floor with an audible bounce, then continued to roll until it disappeared underneath his bed.

As soon as he had done it, Magnus regretted it. He didn’t do anything about it, rather; he let the pain he caused himself to fester, spreading across his weakened form until all he could feel was the icy misery of his own soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After several months of touch and go, Toki builds a rapport with Magnus. 
> 
> Magnus, in an attempt to avoid thinking of his cruel past, drinks and ends up admitting to Toki that he's depressed.

Thanks to recent modifications to their private jet, it only took about three hours to reach Magnus’ apartment. Toki had enough faith to believe the klokateers that dropped him off just a few blocks away from the apartment complex would keep their vows of silence, but always left the usual threat of violence as an added safety measure. It wasn’t as though he feared that the other members would know how he spent his free time. They did know. They didn't like it too much, but they knew. Rather, it was how the rest of the world would respond if it ever got out he was visiting Magnus on a near-regular basis. Five months had passed since his rescue, but there were still plenty of websites and discussion forums that continued to beat the dead horse filled with rumors and conspiracies that questioned where Toki had gone during his abduction. Toki doubted the average civilian would connect him with Magnus, but wasn’t willing to take the risk. Magnus had asked on multiple accounts to keep him as separate as possible from Dethklok. A few pictures here and there were one thing, but photos with them and the klokateers, or in the dethjet together, was out of the question. 

He turned a corner, walking down a long street in a dead-end neighborhood, and saw the small building located at the very end. It was a far cry from Mordhaus, but it was also just far from being considered shabby. As he got closer, he caught something sour and flat ringing in the air. Toki looked up, towards the apartment complex, listening to a few more off-tune strums emit from a window whose pane was cracked just enough. He slowed his steps, eyes locked on the window, and waited for the break in notes to end, and for something impossible to happen. 

And then, just as he approached the stairs, Toki finally got to hear the notes of a guitar emitting its secret melody from the second-floor apartment window. A few notes, this time in tune, strummed a slow rhythm that seemed to stretch and drag. Another pause. Toki took the opportunity to pick up his things and carefully make his way up the stairs as he impatiently awaited the next series of notes. They arrived just as he finished walking up the flight, but transformed into something rough and gnarly, and it was louder and twisted each note through the front door where Toki now stood. It ended the moment he knocked on the door, but he committed those patterns to heart, telling himself over and over that progress, no matter how slow, was progress.

He heard movement on the other side. Footsteps leading away from the door. Toki sighed, somewhat hurt when he put two and two together and realized this was a goal that wasn’t going to be openly shared with him today. 

When Magnus finally did open the door, he had his smile on. “I’ms here,” he said, grinning warmly despite the stressed expression already donned by the older man, “Magnus.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Toki,” Magnus replied before carefully glancing over Toki’s shoulder, anxiously checking to see if anyone else was present before pulling Toki into the apartment. 

Right away, Toki noticed a pile of crushed cardboard boxes in the kitchen. He stared at it for a few seconds, spotting the worn, faded words indicating what each box was once filled with, and his eyes lit up. 

“Oh, wowee,” Toki muttered, then looked around the living room, chest swelling with excitement when he saw shelves littered with ceramic skulls, satanic devices and half-burned candles of various shades and sizes, Lovecraftian monstrosities, DVDs and even a few VHSs with excitingly dark titles, and other occult-like paraphernalia that, up until now, Toki only fathomed had existed in some form. He saw the living room table completely covered in folders, notebooks and yellow-stained piles of what looked like sheet music. There were two picture frames leaning against the entrance to the hallway. Next to the television was another cardboard box and... _and_ it was open, and without trying to be rude about it, he picked himself up with his top-toes, checking the contents and saw it was only half-full of personal belongings.

Toki bit his lower lip, holding in a few pleased noises as he took in the scenery. 

“Magnus, you unpackst your things,” Toki said. 

He heard Magnus chuckle right behind him. “ _Finally_ ,” he sarcastically said, then walked ahead, past Toki, and fell into his couch. He ran his long, bony fingers through his unkempt curls, letting the dim lighting above give way and expose how tired he looked. “Three days of work, and I’m barely halfway through this shit.” 

“Magnus, that’s great.” Toki meant it, too.

Shortly after leaving the hospital, Magnus was welcomed to the sight of his apartment completely trashed. He wasn’t surprised, in fact he had purposely left the door unlocked when he fled the place, hell-bent on enacting his revenge and taking delight in knowing he left no clues behind for any klokateer to chase. Anything that wasn’t nailed to the wall had been taken apart, snapped in half or shredded, and even parts of the walls had been disemboweled, spilling out bits of support beams and gravel from desperate servants trying to unearth some clue to Toki’s whereabouts. Couch cushions were ripped open, fluff removed and scattered through the area. He found his bed practically inside-out, a feat he might've considered impressive, were it not for the fact that it left Magnus with hardly a thing to call his own. Again, he wasn’t surprised by the outcome. Toki remembered watching him stand amongst it all, surrounded by piles of shattered glass, crumpled paper, burned throw pillows and opened bags of strange smelling spices. Gripping his still bandaged chest as he rested on top of the flipped sofa, Magnus looked around the room, absorbed the impossibly large mess he could not hope to fix, and he laughed such a nasty, hoarse laugh. 

Originally, Toki tried to spin the ransacked apartment as a chance at starting fresh, and even got Magnus to agree with him that moving to a new location just might be the change he needed to move on. This decision proved to be far more challenging than either predicted. It was one thing to pack up and leave one’s past behind, another to unpack and start afresh, and for three months Toki would come and go and see the same large towers of boxes imposing their overwhelming claustrophobic existence while also accumulating dust and light all throughout the apartment. Naturally, Toki wanted to help, and even tried once, but that only set Magnus off, forcing Toki to leave early, and Magnus to profusely apologize to the point Toki feared he might try something drastic again.

But for the first time ever the apartment was starting to look “lived-in.” True, there were some nick-knacks that didn't survive the move, and Magnus outright refused to let Toki know the cost and names of his many broken devices, but right now there was some personality in each room. There was finally proof someone lived here, and that something had finally changed. It didn't really matter what that change was, just that it happened. Yes, most the walls were still bare, and what was unpacked was messily placed wherever it would fit, and Magnus looked up at him like he didn’t believe a single damn word Toki said, but this was a hell of a lot better than trying to navigate around mountains of boxes three months after the fact. 

Magnus was still staring at him like he was a liar, so much so Toki compelled himself to challenge it. 

“We should celebrates,” he announced before taking a seat next to Magnus, “to you finallys moving ins.” 

Magnus shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but–”

“I means it,” Toki pounced before Magnus could complete his thoughts. Without warning, he had placed a hand on the older man’s leg. His mouth was still open, ready to say more. He had more he wanted to say, like “I knows you probablys wanted to gets this dones before I arrived,” or, “Don'ts feel bads about it takings this long,” but stopped once his eyes met with Magnus’, and he could see that brown eye fill up with absolute bewilderment, then shame and, _eventually_ , acceptance. 

Magnus pressed his face into his hands. His index fingers rubbed the dark lines under his eyes. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll celebrate.”

Toki got up to his knees. He took Magnus by the shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Hells yes. Woohoo!” 

“Christ, Toki,” Magnus said, shooting a less amused look at him, only to be welcomed with more shaking. “God– _Toki…_ buddy, it’s just a few boxes. Shit’s still a mess.” 

“But ams not all in boxes” Toki pointed out, stopping his aggressive shaking to get that fact across. 

Magnus’ expression eased. “Your English is shit when you get excited,” he said, cracking a devilish smirk once Toki pushed him away, letting him fall a bit to his side before pulling back into a more reclined, _relaxed_ position. “Fine. We’ll go out,” he said rather harshly, as though the very idea of leaving his oppressed sanctum was the last thing on his mind. But Toki caught that smirk, and like the brief melody he had heard before, stowed it away in his memory bank as another milestone for him to be thankful for. 

“So, what’s on the menu?”

“Huh?” 

“What are we getting?” Magnus asked, this time taking the lead and lightly flicking the younger man’s forehead with his forefinger and thumb. Magnus snickered again, but threw in an additional chuckle before lifting off and making his way into the hallway, towards his room. “Mexican? American? Give me a cuisine… I'll take us somewhere.” 

“Hmmm.” Toki hummed loudly, pretending to be deep in thought about his options, but leaned into the couch until his spine had the frame pushing back against him. He could barely make out the cracked door leading into Magnus’ bedroom, along with the off-white sheets and wrinkled comforter of the bed, but he was positive that, on tops of the sheets and blankets, was the white line and the solid, black sheen of a recently tuned Les Paul. 

* * *

The Adderall was at such a low dose Magnus wondered why they were handed to him in the first place, other than the fact that it was often prescribed to others with similar dispositions such as his own. As far as Magnus could tell, focus was not an issue. If anything, he had too much of it. Sure, he had a habit of being compulsive, but he considered more a willingness to live within that moment. The Lurasidone kept the energy and appetite in check, which was a necessity given the Bupropoin took it all away, but did jack shit against the lack of flavor and enthusiasm Magnus felt whenever an overabundant amount of food was placed in front of him. If anything, the sight of a plate of food, no matter how nice, was greater associated with work ahead. Even if his stomach beckoned for it, it wasn’t quite the same. Not yet. There wasn’t much that could be done about it, either, because if he quit the Lurasidone, then he’d be stuck with just the amphetamines and fucking-fuck Bupropoin that left his mouth dry and kicked any desire for nutrition out the door.

But hey, at least he had a passable sense of humor and a full eight hours of sleep under his belt. 

At the very least, the lack of appetite made him a better listener. When he grew tired of picking at his fries, all he had to do was raise his eyes to Toki, who seemed to take it upon himself to fill the silence between them with personal anecdotes and stories. Toki always had something to say. It didn’t matter how stupid, shallow or outright embarrassing the subject was: Toki shared whatever came to mind. They shared a rather enthralling discussion regarding Toki’s recent gig at the animal shelter, which led to hundreds of animals to be adopted, but at the cost of nearly every other neighboring business being demolished. Normally, Magnus didn't care to hear about Dethklok news, but he grew increasingly curious whenever Toki discussed his side of an event. At first, it sounded like Toki was constantly being chased, if not constantly threatened, by death. However, with the increasing violence and gore becoming normalized in Toki’s diction, and with Toki almost always coming out unscathed, Magnus just had to wonder if any of the band’s previous and current accidents were in any way connected to what he saw several months ago. But just as he would think about asking, he’d see Toki express concern, worry even, about some of the damage he’d witnessed, and Magnus would push it aside and ask about something else, and the discussion would move on to music, parties, and people. Toki went on and on. It was a blessing in disguise as Magnus found he had less and less to talk about as the day went on. There honestly wasn’t too much to talk about, not really. Unlike Toki, who seemed to find great news in the most insignificant of things, Magnus didn’t share his enthusiasm in sharing changes in medication, dosage, doing basic chores or improved sleep. Nothing to be proud of when literally billions of other people did it all the time, without the aide.

Nearly an hour had passed since Magnus last touched his burger. Toki was going on about the recent changes made under their new manager, and Magnus watched with mild discomfort every time Toki’s mouth opened, always forming that sickly-sweet smile whenever he mentioned _that_ woman’s name. However, when Magnus attempted to broach _that_ subject, Toki only blushed and rapidly shook his hands and head, insisting it wasn’t like _that_.

They were just friends, he claimed through a nervous grin. 

_Bullshit,_ Magnus thought, but kept a flat smile as Toki searched for another subject to talk about. 

When the third waiter holding a tray of beers passed, all Magnus could think of was a means of escape, and pondered the risk of drowning his anxiety with something full-bodied and numbing. Alcohol was not supposed to be on the menu. He had pages of instructions that practically mapped out the reasons why alcohol would absolutely not be on the menu, but right as Toki asked if Magnus wanted to split a dessert, a fourth waitress walked passed with a pitcher, and that impractical voice in his head told any second longer without a drink would mean going insane. 

Magnus stood up from his seat. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?” Toki watched as Magnus opened his wallet and tossed a few twenties on the table. “You sure?” 

Magnus was positive the question was aimed more at him paying for his half-consumed meal.

“Yeah,” Magnus said, sounding rather still about it. “I know a place not too far. We can walk.” 

“Waits, what ams you talkin’ abouts?” 

“A drink, Toki,” Magnus said, already in the process of leaving the table. “Come on, let's get out of here.” 

A drink could happen anywhere, but Magnus needed to get away from the conversations about Dethklok’s upcoming events, about that woman running it all and Toki. For some reason, that meant leaving this place. A change of scenery was in order. New atmosphere. Anything. 

As Magnus headed out, a haunting chill ran up his spine as he saw Toki clinging to that woman, two pairs of sunken eyes wide with fear glued to his very form. He stopped dead in his tracks, watching Toki wrap those arms around her so easily, bury his face into her chest as she continued to stare up at him in defiance. Her clothes were ripped, stained with the stench old blood, sweat and neglect, and her nails chipped and grimy from scratching and clawing at him, and her hair increasingly more matted with each passing day, but those eyes of hers never faltered or gave any inclination that she feared him. Magnus blinked, feeling his legs grow weak, but then the real Toki bumped into him, and Magus felt that cold nail that dragged down his back vanish, replaced only with the terrible reminder that all of this was real. 

“Hey,” Toki said, tapping his shoulder. 

“What?” Magnus asked rather sharply. 

“You okays?” 

That was the last question Toki should be asking. He hated it when Toki asked that question. 

“I _will_ be,” Magnus answered, keeping his sights forward as they exited the restaurant. “Just follow me, alright, bud?” 

Shit, maybe he needed another change in prescription. The thought came and went as the late evening wind washed over Magnus’s gaunt face, refreshing and taking away some of that unknown anxiety that haunted him before. He still craved a drink, and although he could hear the more practical side of him tell him anything more than a shot would screw him over, that other, _louder_ voice insisted that he could strike a better conversation with a shot or two of whiskey running through his veins. 

So he dragged Toki to a nearby bar, whipped out another couple of twenties and waved it in front of the bartender and ordered four shots of whiskey between the two of them. _Just two_ , he thought, and smiled handsomely at the tender as she handed him the four glasses. He headed back to the table Toki saved for them, walking with a grace that ensured not a single drop of alcohol spilled on its way over, only to have all four shot glasses hit the table with a sharp _clunk._

“Here we go,” Magnus said, feeling a warm rise begin to bubble in his stomach as he watched Toki pick up the first glass to ogle at the amber content with mild curiosity, “just what the doctor ordered.” 

He wasn’t afraid. He knew Toki was a party-boy. Though the record label did everything to control the amount of controversial news regarding Toki’s relationship with the more extreme side of musical influencers, no amount of censorship could change the fact that precious little Toki loved to have a good time. Oh, but Mr. Wartooth is a model citizen! The kids love him. Let’s name a brand of toothpaste after him! What a crock! He’d taken Toki out once before, way back then, as a practice run for a backup plan he had in mind, and saw just how much Toki could take in before he started to lose control. Thank god for the funeral; Magnus wasn’t sure he’d get away carrying that much weight with so much alcohol between them! 

A rather dark thought, but it amused Magnus nonetheless. With that terrible image on his mind, he chuckled and picked up the first glass, paying little mind to Toki as he began downing it, shutting his eyes once he registered the taste. Oh, the taste alone set a surge of endorphins running through him. Why the fuck did food taste bland, but booze so damn good? Placebo or not, it felt fucking good. He slammed the shot glass back down, earning a surprised reaction from his guest as Magnus began eyeing his second shot. 

“We forgots to toasts,” Toki said.

“What?” 

Toki raised his glass. “To Magnus,” he said, waving the shot glass playfully between his finger and thumb. “C’mons, you members?” 

Slowly, he brought his glass to Toki’s, letting it click against his, then brought it up just high enough that the liquid turned gold under the light. “To me,” he said, practically grumbling, before bringing the glass to his lips.

He’d forgotten about it, or, rather, hoped their previous meal succeeded in completing and bringing an end to their “celebration.” Magnus was already on another chapter, eager to get lost in the sweltering, pleasurable mist he held in his hands. He placed the empty glass on the table, good eye fluttering around the room to take in the changing lights and sounds. Was it the real thing, or just another chemical reaction in his brain? No matter: the mere presence of alcohol had a way of filling Magnus with brilliant ideas and conversation starters.

Something in his gut turned, but Magnus had no trouble putting it aside to embrace the alcoholic fog, even if it was just all in his mind. With both elbows supporting him, Magnus leaned most of his weight against the table, dropping his head and welcoming the passing seconds as Toki cheered and slapped his back. He didn’t mind it. Toki was a little rough, but the contact, as brief as it was, sent a delicious and primordial echo that drove Magnus to crave more. He brought his head up, blowing air out his lips to get some cumbersome heat, brown and gray strands from his face, and saw Toki staring back him with that stupid, lopsided smile of his. Magnus snickered, drew back and kissed the light above before succumbing to his own.

He probably looked like a fool, otherwise Toki wouldn’t have giggled like he did. 

“What’s so funny?” he asked. 

“Nothings.”

He snickered. “C’mon, tell me.” 

Toki shifted on his stool, withdrawing his arms to the ends of the table as he said, “Ims nice that you ams having a good time.” 

Magnus didn't have the heart to tell Toki he’d been told to avoid hard liquor, and that the two shots he took would most certainly lead to black-outs. He just stared at those two pale blue eyes, astounded that Toki still gave two shits about his feelings. It made a lot more sense when he was in the hospital, all bandaged up and drugged to the point where he couldn't think, much less function on his own, but that was well over three months ago. What stake did Toki really have in supporting him? 

The image of Toki clinging to that woman reentered his mind. He tried shrugging it off, only to see the real Toki in front of him, and felt his stomach turn when he saw that stupid smile… wasn’t as nice as the one he made when he talked about her. 

Fucks the meds, Magnus thought, then met with Toki and said, “I’m thinking about getting another. You in?” 

Toki had been wearing quite the smile up until this point. “More?” he asked, sounding a little cautious for comfort. “Is that–”

“ _What?_ ” Magnus knew it sounded defensive. It was one many red flags that he already knew he was going to ignore if he wanted to get through the night. 

He watched Toki point a finger at him. “Aren’ts you takings medicines for your heart?”

Toki _would_ find a way to get his accent over every word except that one. 

“My heart’s fine,” Magnus said flippantly, immediately brushing it off as he took another step away from their table. “It’s been five months, man. I can handle a bit of alcohol,” he insisted, gesturing with both hands to ease and lure Toki into a comfortable state, but, much to his frustration, Toki remained perturbed. 

“ _Come on,_ ” Magnus said, choosing to face Toki’s anxiety with a grin. He made his way round the table to lean himself against Toki, pushing just enough weight that the man threatened to come off his seat. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me. You’ve seen what I can handle.” 

He laughed, but stopped short when he saw how negatively the remark affected the man. He looked pale, almost sickly when it sank in. Magnus knew he had to act quick. 

“Hey, if I get a little shit-faced, you call a cab and we’ll go home. We’ll just…spend the rest of the night watching crap in the living room. Y’know, the usual stuff. Your choice. How’s that?” Magnus asked, feeling a rise when he saw Toki’s expression give way to his words. The promise of a way out and marathoning pirated classics was a big enough safety net to get Toki interested. “Don’t think we’ll need to, though,” Magnus added, nudging Toki again, “because I know I can handle my booze. Question is, can you?”

Toki shot his head up. “Oh, I cans.”

Magnus grinned at him. “Prove it.” 

This time, Toki left his seat. “You likes Tequila?” he asked as his hands dropped to fish through his pockets. 

Magnus chuckled. “Depends. What’s the brand?”

“Only…” Toki’s finger slowly raised, leaving behind a blurry trail that Magnus almost took for real until he reached out, watching Toki continue to fade and obscure in his dwindling vision before disappearing into the foggy fluorescent backdrop. He blinked, waiting for his right eyes to focus in on that vanishing blurb, but each time he opened his eyes only felt the increasing exhaustion seep into his brain. By the time his eye focused, Toki was gone, and Magnus was alone and surrounded by a nauseatingly hot mosaic painting. 

He heard noises around him, felt the warm air continue to brush past exposed skin, and had to cover his mouth. Something bubbled in his gut. It almost felt like hunger. Magnus sniffed, feeling the far end of his brain tickle as someone walked by and placed strange artifacts in front of him. _Here it comes_ , Magnus thought, and shut his eyes. 

The world always spun when you had too much to drink, but apparently it also turned into a dark, humid oven while mixed with antipsychotics. It was just two shots, but Magnus could only make it three seconds before the spinning became too much, forcing his eyes open and meeting with the grimy walls that lined the basement. Ugh, the air tasted foul. Tasted too humid. Too stale. How was it nobody else noticed? Magnus looked around, fighting to see through the dark, and saw the shadows around him jerk. He saw blood on the walls, filthy hands reaching out and ripping at human flesh. No…no, that’s not right. Magnus rubbed his right eye till white and red lines begin to encompass his vision, then removed and saw the squiggling lines swim from his view, replaced with Toki’s silhouette waving at someone to come over. They were back at the bar, and it was hot because he was drunk. They were all too busy laughing, too busy having a good time to realize what the hell was going on. He gripped the table for support as he fought to stop himself from chuckling at his own stupidity. This was not a good idea. His legs clung to the stool seat as he raised his head up again, this time to keep himself from falling over terrifying carousel threatened to pull him back in.

“Is nice you ams tryin to writes music again, Magnus.”

Magnus jolted, temporarily pulled away from the cyclone and returned to the bar. Toki sat in front of him, his over-the-top dethphone out and flashing light at him. 

“What?” Magnus asked. 

“Y’know, I don’t thinks I ever heard you plays before,” Toki continued to go on as he sorted through his photos. He brought his eyes up before nodding pleasantly at Magnus. “I means… at least not since I wents to camps...with you.” 

Lost, Magnus dropped his sights on the table and found a bottle on his right, along with four empty shot glasses on his side of the table. 

“Right,” Magnus said, recovering as quickly as he could, then snatched the bottle and brought it to his nose. Almost immediately, his stomach churned. He could _hear_ it churn and twist in disgust at his poor choices, but otherwise didn’t feel much. He knew he was likely on fire, but the fog kept him from recognizing how deep the damage went. Another red flag, but it didn't stop Magnus from finishing the remains of the now-warm drink. 

Music? Had he really managed to lead a conversation through that episode? And he told Toki he was playing again? Well, anything’s possible. Still, seeing Toki discuss Magnus’... _lack_ of creativity was far from the conversation he wanted to have. What the hell did he say to Toki, he wondered. What sort of lies did he say to impress the gullible idiot? 

“I wasn’ts going to says anythings, but I heards you tune your guitars,” he heard Toki’s voice pierced through the thickening fog before muffling and going flat. 

Yes, he played his guitar…

At least, he _tried_ to play his guitar. After growing tired of staring at his guitar case gathering dust on its side as it remained untouched in his closet since his move, Magnus yanked it from its dark prison, opened it and stared at the sleeping beauty he’d neglected for several months now. He’d always been rather proud of his creativity, his natural knack and understanding of music. It was a talent that kept him afloat long after he was kicked out of Dethklok. Sure, he got calls specifically because of his ties with Dethklok, but Magnus could still produce something of his own, something that people still commissioned for. 

He remembered sitting on the bed, holding it in his arms and resting the instrument comfortably on his legs while adjusting and bringing it closer to his chest. Vertical beams of light from the window stretched over its luscious body, calling to him to weave something raw into it, to burn its strings with the rage he’d accumulated all his life, tear through it and leave any listener feeling as hollow as he did right now. Magnus knew exactly what he needed to do with it, what abuse to lay out, but when he tried to take those thoughts, Magnus found they were always out of reach. He’d see a note, play it, and realize it was wrong. He searched deep, looking for that inspiration that always arose in even the darkest of times, but could not locate that spark. 

He felt sick to his stomach. 

“You okays?” Toki’s voice broke through Magnus’ defensives in the form of a comforting hand gently rubbing his back. 

Magnus wasn’t sure when he and Toki left the bar, but they were outside now. It was late enough that the cold air seeped through his outfit, clashed and stung the scar on his chest, but early enough that he could hear laughter and mockery of college-aged adults aimed at his pitiful state. If he wasn't so preoccupied with making sure his jeans were safe from the impending backsplash, he’d have done something about it. 

“Four shots was a lots,” Toki said, gently scolding and rubbing Magnus’ back and lifting his hair upright right as that urge to expel arose a second time. Magnus gripped the wall and heaved, spitting up the rest of his meal and feeling satisfied once it was over. His head still danced around in a frantic haze, but still managed to glance and pick up the shapes around him, and deciphered that it was near or past midnight. There were hardly any surrounding lights, which meant businesses were closed, and the name-calling was rapidly growing distant and fading from memory. 

Magnus wiped his mouth and brought himself back up, pushing Toki away as he regained just enough composure to pass for mildly drunk. “Thanks,” Magnus said, then raised his head up in search of a street name. “You, uhh, know where we are?”

“Ams following you,” Toki confessed. 

“Me?” Magnus asked, astounded at the notion. “I blacked out.” 

Toki’s eyes widened. “What?” 

Magnus was too sick to deal with this. “We need a ride,” he said, then patted down his jacket before locating and securing his phone. He took another look around the street, finding a park just across and a nearby bench. “Follow me,” he said. “We’ll wait here… oh, _fuck._ ”

Magnus barely took a step before feeling the world underneath him begin to curve and bend. Not again, he thought, cursing himself and purposely stepping forward, concentrating his sights on the bench ahead. But what he thought was the ground was still air, and he stumbled forward, only to be snatched up last minute by Toki. Something pulled at his brain, and once Magnus recognized the beginning of another hallucination, he grabbed Toki, shutting his eyes as the feeling came and went, and another bout of nausea began to strike. Not a memory, just feeling sick. He gripped the man’s arm as he swallowed wads of spit collecting in his mouth. No, he was not going to throw up on Toki. Magnus Hammersmith could handle a few insults, but he was not going to bear the humiliation of vomiting all over his fucking–

“Hey, Toki,” Magnus asked as they neared the bench.

“Hmm?” 

“I’m sorry for fucking everything up.” 

“Is alright.” 

“No,” Magnus said, shaking his dropping head. Even the locks were starting to feel heavy. “You wanted to have fun.”

“I was havin lots of funs until you gots sick.” Toki said, stopping to help Magnus sit on the bench. Magnus took his share of the bench, spreading his legs and letting the chill shake some new life into him. Toki sat next besides him, placed Magnus’ phone on his lap, then looked at him with newfound intrigue. “You talks about them demos tapes and musicals lyrics…”

Demo tapes? Now that was something…

“Demos?” Magnus inquired.

“The ones you and the others released before Dethklok gots all famous?”

Christ, that was almost twenty years ago. Manus couldn’t believe he’d bring something as archaic and as emotionally distant as his past relationship with the others. But the connection was unavoidable, and with it out there, Magnus, tired and lacking any sense of direction, asked, “Toki? Uhm....”

“What?” Toki asked as he scrolled through his apps. 

“What the fuck do you do when you hit a wall?” 

Toki lowered the phone. “Whats you means?”

“When you can’t come up with anything?” Magnus asked. He felt a sharp sting when Toki continued to stare at him, completely unaware of the real issue. With a heavy sigh, Magnus added, “Writer’s block, bud. When the sound is there, but just out of reach?”

“Oh, rights.” 

Not once did Toki ever worry about writer’s block. He never suffered from writer’s block because he never bothered to write his own music. He lacked the skills Nathan had to compose a symphony of notes, melodies and messages in his mind; did not possess the same level of commitment Skwisgaar did to attempt new feats, no matter how experimental, with his guitar; and was completely void of the drive that Pickle’s had when it came to constructing and completing a song. Toki didn't even have the same level of musical education as the average musician. Everything he knew was either self-taught, or brutally inflicted upon him. He was lucky enough that the others didn't mind his lack of contribution so much, and happily stuck to the random songs and ideas that would occasionally burst and pop in his mind, only to vanish when he no longer required their pleasant distractions. But none of those silly songs ever ended up in a Dethklok album, and Toki was quite thankful for it. He was damn content that he never had to worry about supplying any creative input beyond what was asked of him, only now Magnus was staring up at him asking what to do now that he couldn’t do the very thing that gave him a sense of purpose. 

“Well,” Toki said, looking deep inside himself for an answer that could help Magnus. It was so hard to lie about things he didn't know. “I guess… if I’s cannot finds my place, _I means,_ my musics, I asks myself what's changed?” 

Toki peered down at Magnus, who, by this point, was using him as a head rest. The viewpoint was far from adequate, but he thought he could at least make out that Magnus was staring back up at him, contemplating those words. 

Worried it might not be enough, Toki thought to try and add more until it at least sounded profound enough to help Magnus get over this sudden slump. 

“Uhm,” Toki stared out into the dark. “Wells. Asks yourselves what’s changed. You says you beens making the music for years.”

“Did I?” Magnus murmured into Toki’s clavicle. 

“You says there ams a demo…” 

Funny, aside from the time he tried to get everyone to live the “old days” of pre-celebrity hood, he never really thought much about the difficult, slow beginnings of the band. When he joined Dethklok, they already had enough original songs for Toki to quickly learn and master. A few they still played to this day, but… more than half that he barely recalled being forced to learn within a drastically short time frame, only to never play again after his first gig. How many of those lost songs belonged to Magnus, he wondered. The fact he never bothered to ask made Toki feel a little guilty. At least now he knew something. He was handed a drop in the bucket of information, of memories and emotions that made up Magnus, and Toki was going to roll with it.

He had an inkling of what Magnus _is_ , and he wanted to go further and bring out at least one song from memory. Maybe if he hummed it, Magnus would say something about it? Maybe if he continued to show interest, he could get Magnus to swap out the movie for music instead?

Now that Magnus was in the process of decluttering and moving in, it seemed like a safe enough question to ask.

“Maybe listens to it?” Toki suggested. “Your olds music?”

“Oh,” Magnus said, spreading an apathetic smile across his weary visage. “No, Toki. None of that shit exists anymore. It’s all lost.”

Toki felt his bottom lip drop as Magnus went silent, pressing his face deep into his chest before slipping a few inches again. He stared out, looking past the street, at the few buildings ahead, then up at the night sky. _Lost,_ he thought, amazed at the very word. Not _gone_ , but _lost_ , as in missing. It meant a lot more than just being destroyed by klokateers, or bought under a different name from a company that wanted it, but did not want to share credit. If something was lost, it wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and how could Toki locate something for someone who was still in the process of finding themselves?

“I just...want to make something,” he heard Magnus murmur into his chest. “If I’m stuck here...why _am_ I here?” Toki’s eyes widened as he listened, helpless to stop Magnus from sinking further. “If I cannot create, then what’s the fucking point?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki returns to Mordhaus, determined to help Magnus.

_The chains were warm to the touch, and were smooth against his palms, but he yanked so hard he felt each individual link transfer the weight of a man up his arms and across his chest. It left his hands burning, but thrilled him to no end to see them drag, to fight back, kick, and finally succumb to his strength. They were closer now: he nearly had them under the light now. Had to get them under the light. Needed to see that face. Closer. He kept on pulling, reaching for additional length, feeling the chains intertwine with fingers before dragging the weight and watching their form begin to solidify as he pulled them closer…_

Morning light struck. Magnus woke up in his bed, head throbbing like someone had stabbed it repeatedly, twisting until it reached the back of his eyes, and then proceeded to do everything in its power to push each eyeball as far as it could until any twitch or movement did nothing but cause absolute misery. 

Magnus groaned, bringing an arm to cover his eyes. He cursed the sun for existing, then turned on his right to shield himself from the unforgiving sting the rays produced, only to be met with something stiff and smooth bumping against his forehead. When he opened his eyes, he saw the round black tip of the stuffed bear’s nose. Glaring, Magnus retreated into his sheets, smothering himself under the comforter while reaching blindly with his arm to grab the stuffed animal and cast it from his vicinity. He threw it, wriggled near the center of his bed and, relieved to be away from the horrendous light of day, sighed peacefully through his nose before attempting to clout out his thought in favor of an additional hour or two of rest.

This dream, however, was not meant to be. Just as Magnus slid a hand under his pillow, he was met with that terrible realization that he possessed no memory of how he ended up in his bed, and that he had left his guitar lying on top of the very same comforters he was currently sequestering.

“Fuck.”

Magnus squinted his eyes tight then, very slowly, began to open them. First came the groggy fade that both his eyes suffered as they tried to focus, followed by yet another nasty sting as Magnus dragged himself out of bed, hands rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to ease the godforsaken pressure. He checked his bed, and was thankful that he couldn’t find his guitar amongst the sheets. He waited for blue-red circles to vanish from his right, then carefully surveyed the room. His discarded jacket lay just beside the bed, on top of one of his boots. He found his guitar case leaning not too far from the door. Though he already had a feeling, Magnus knelt and opened his case, and found his beautiful guitar resting comfortably within it. A wash of relief swept down his back as his fingers traced down the instrument’s neck, hesitant to pull it from the case in case there was damage he didn’t see. After a moment, he took the guitar out, stood up to bring it into the light and checked for damage. Another release came once he knew it was safe, that he hadn’t ruined it when he fell upon his bed after getting absolutely shit-faced.

 _Wait_. Magnus looked over his shoulder, to the half-opened closet, at the stuffed bear that crashed into his other boot. He stared at it for a moment, piecing together the clues until it dawned on him that he had gone out with Toki, took shots, and then…hopefully didn’t start any fights. Magnus pushed his tongue against his teeth, making a slight face once he registered the dryness of his mouth and throat. He needed water.

He put his guitar away, left his room and entered the hallway. The decreased lighting was much welcomed. He heard Toki sleeping on the sofa before entering, but still dragged his hungover self to check anyways. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Toki resting on his side, blanket reduced to a spooned coil, but thought the sight oddly comforting. It certainly answered the mystery of how he made it home in one piece, though Magnus couldn't fathom why Toki would choose worn furniture over his own bed. He knew Toki wanted to keep his stooges and work as separate from his social life as possible, but Magnus was quite confident they were always close, waiting on standby to take him back to Mordhaus if needed. 

Magnus grumbled as he continued to search for answers about what happened last night, but only found small pockets of clarity spread across a vast, empty darkness. He remembered being outside, feeling wretched, being dizzy and looking up at Toki while waiting for a ride. Something about songs? Magnus searched, but found no real connection between the foggy voices and shadows that he barely recalled. It was all so distant now. 

Without realizing it, he was back to staring at Toki.

 _What did I tell you,_ he wondered, not expressing anything outwardly, but inside hated that he exposed that side of himself in such a manner, and over what? Because he didn’t like how uncomfortable he got when Toki brought up any reminders of their past? Of that woman? 

Shit. It wasn’t like he knew they desperately needed to talk about it. They were going to talk about it. That was the plan. It had _always_ been the plan the moment Magnus realized that Toki would eventually show up to the hospital he was residing in. And Toki did show up, and the second contact was made, they did their part and completely danced around the subject, instead clinging to topics of that very moment. Looking back, Magnus couldn’t blame Toki for not initiating the subject, but he also wasn’t ready to point a finger at himself. Not even after the second time he visited. Again, there were several opportunities to bring up what happened between them, but instead, they steered as far as they could from that nasty subject Magnus dared not to approach. The conversation was placed on an indefinite hold once Magnus discovered his ransacked apartment, because by that point his role as failed villain had shifted into something far less admirable.

Underneath him, Toki made another sound. Magnus ceased the depressive thoughts, removing himself from the sofa and moved towards the neighboring kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He maneuvered around the pile of crushed boxes, turned on the faucet and let the water fill a glass while he opened a drawer and snatched four small, orange bottles from within it. Back facing the living room, Magnus aligned the four pills he’d have to take along with mandatory breakfast if he didn't–oh, _crap_ , breakfast. _You forgot to go shopping_ , he thought and scowled as he looked over his shoulder, spotted Toki still asleep, and began praying that he had something that was both edible, nutritionally sound and safe for a diabetic. Some searching in the fridge gave way to a decent amount of proteins that could be scrambled and called a meal, though he stopped to sniff a few specimens before tossing everything into a pan on low heat.

Magnus returned to the sofa and was about to shake Toki awake when he noticed his phone resting on the coffee table, on top of discolored sheets of notes, half-finished lyrics, and other discarded plans. He picked it up, leaving the living room and slowly made his way back to the kitchen. On the way, he checked the battery and any clues alluding to last night. He didn’t have the chance to unlock it before it started flashing a list of missed notifications, which _definitely_ posed an issue, though Magnus picked up on the growing irritation right away and snuffed it. The first few posts were by Toki and, thankfully, were not the worst images of himself he’d seen online. They were far from flattering though, and he’d have to once again remind Toki to please stop tagging the two of them in any social media. Fortunately, he saw nothing negative pop up, aside from his revitalized association with Dethklok. Toki had a terrible habit of using an overabundant amount of tags with his post. Though it was only a few pictures, the world certainly would know the two of them were still chatting it up. Frowning, he exited the app and noticed there was a voice message, along with some missed calls. Magnus raised a brow, allowing some space for his eyes to open more as he checked the area code, and once he accepted that this wasn’t some trick, gave a satisfied smirk.

“Whats that smells?” 

Magnus pulled his good eye away from the screen, over to the sofa, where he saw glimpses of Toki shifting about rather uncomfortably, probably trying to free himself from the twisted blanket or to get a better whiff of the salt and grease mixing and overwhelming the apartment with its seductive scent. 

“Morning to you, too,” Magnus said, then brought his attention back to his phone. He heard more twisting and stretching from the furnishing as Toki continued to wake up. 

“What times is its?”

“Almost ten.” 

He heard Toki groan. “Oh shits,” he said, and Magnus listened as Toki continued to fight through the blankets, kicking them up before eventually losing and taking the blanket with him, along with his insulin case as he rushed to the bathroom. 

Good, Magnus thought, and waited until he was sure the bathroom door was locked, then took over the space on the sofa. He grabbed a nearby pen and hit play, listened to the recording, the name of prospective customer, order and desire, and incredibly vague description of an offer. He wasn’t stupid. A bunch of online pictures with a beloved celebrity, plus a job offering? Obviously the two were connected. He could tell just by listening to the message. Magnus wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted in work, but he let it play once more and ultimately wrote the number down on some ancient shreds of what looked like another previous job gone afoul. Maybe it was the natural hit of endorphins, but Magnus had worked an appetite. He returned to the frying pan, cracked a few eggs and fled the scene when grease popped and threatened to assault him. 

He glanced at his pills and wished he’d gone shopping so he could take them with coffee. That was the real ticket to ending a hangover. Not this hydration crap.

Magnus wrinkled his face as he popped two pills into his mouth. As he reached for the water, he caught something moving, a darkening blur on his left.

Then came Toki. “Please tells me foods ims almost done,” he whined, snatching a glass from the sink and filling it with water.

Magnus grabbed the remaining two pills and turned his back on Toki. “Grab a plate.”

“You feelins alright?”

“Mhmm.”

“I gots you a plates, too.”

Magnus placed his empty glass on top of the counter. “Ok, Toki.”

Toki was rather chipper. He was hungover, but was handling it better than Magnus was. 

Obviously, it was the pills. He refused to account for age.

There was no dining area. Magnus returned to the sofa, spread legged and near the phone number he’d scribbled just a few minutes ago. Toki took to the floor, crossed legged. Thankfully, breakfast proved to be uneventful, because all Toki wanted to talk about were the likes and comments his fans left behind on his posts. Magnus chewed silently, listening in and piecing together the events from last night and becoming more at ease once Toki confirmed nothing had happened last night aside from the usual drunk antics. He could not shake off the feeling that there was still more to the story than what the pictures let on. All images took place indoors, and Magnus remembered vomiting outside.

Magnus returned to the phone number. Maybe nothing happened last night, and he simply earned the opportunity through good faith. 

“You should takes the jobs.”

He glanced away from the number, at Toki resting his elbows on the coffee table. “Excuse me?” Magnus asked. 

“M’sorry.” Toki said, breaking into a slight frown. “I heards your message.” He nervously clasped his hands together, eyes shifting between the phone number and Mangus’ apparent disapproval at this newfound knowledge. “But, I thinks you should takes this job.”

 _Why was he listening in on my call?_ Magnus wanted to ask, then immediately point a finger and accuse Toki of doing so much more than one accident listen-in. He already knew it wasn’t the case. _You played the message twice,_ he reminded himself.

A few deep breaths and he had some control over the next few sentences.

“Probably will,” Magnus replied stiffly. “Money’s money, after all.”

It came out harsher than he meant, but Toki didn’t seem to mind. Maybe it was the sunlight, the younger man’s expression lightened enough that Magnus found himself calming down quicker than anticipated.

“You gets to writes music again,” Toki said. “That’ll be cools.”

 _Again?_ Why’d he have to say it like that–like he wasn’t already trying to write music?

“It’s not that kind of job,” Magnus responded, again sounding more rigid than he wanted. “I play the music they give me.” 

Toki’s eyes dropped back to his food. “Oh.” 

After that it got painfully quiet. Magnus read the look on Toki’s face and knew the guy blamed himself. It pissed him off knowing it was probably his own fault. Magnus didn’t wait to let Toki try and save the conversation, and decided now would be a perfect time to get dressed into something fresh. He took his damn sweet time, too, choosing to stay inside his room until he heard Toki turn on the shower. After that, he cleaned up, hovered around the telephone number a few times before giving up and returning to his room to grab a half-used box of cigarettes stowed away in a drawer and left the apartment. He was well-aware smoking was bad for him. The occasional cigarette wouldn’t hurt. He needed the nicotine.

He left the door cracked open, allowing some of the warm breeze to flow inward and help rid the smell of salt and stale alcohol. It was still morning, and the weather was proving too humid for his liking, but the balcony entrance still provided enough shade to provide that essential few degrees necessary to keep Magnus from getting too sticky. Staring down at the rest of the neighborhood, he lit his cigarette and began to nurse the fumes. 

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps in the living room. Magnus debated snuffing the cigarette, but figured if Toki needed a reason to be pissed at him, this was probably the best excuse he could offer. He continued resting his shoulder on the railing, watching the shadow begin to shrink against the rising sun, and eventually picked up on Toki standing behind him.

“You call your royal chariot?” Magnus asked without looking.

“Yeps.” He listened as Toki moved to his right, then appeared on his side. Magnus glanced, picking up the slightly lopsided frown aimed directly at him. “You shouldn’ts be smokings.”

Magnus waited for Toki to say more, to do more, but was only met with that disappointed set of pale-blue eyes digging into him. Magnus sighed, flicking the tip and kicking off some ashy residue before offering it to Toki. “Help me finish it.”

Toki took the cigarette right away, plucking and placing it perfectly between his fingers. Magnus found that far more amusing than Toki simply snatching it from him. He still half-expected Toki to toss it, but Magnus watched as he brought it to his lips, managing to inhale a decent amount before releasing a rather smooth stream from his lips. His eyelids fluttered, still heavy from a night on the couch. Toki slumped forward, letting his kneecap rub against the metal frame of the rail, and he muttered, “I didn’t means to upsets you…”

Magnus scowled inwardly when the words hit. “I’m not angry at you,” he said with some restraint. He cupped his hands together, letting them hang off the railing while a tinge of self-loathing threatened to crawl up his back. “I’m frustrated. More at myself than anything. 

“Because you wants to writes music, but cants get in the moods?”

Magnus turned. “How’d–”

Toki rolled the cigarette between two fingers, staring plaintively as he allowed it to fall from his fingertips, bounce off the balcony and hit the floor beneath. “You talkst a lots about it last nights,” Toki answered cautiously. “You mentions making musics when you was youngers.” 

“I did that, huh,” Magnus said, raising his shoulder as he imagined and recoiled at the very thought. “Shit, what else did I say?”

Toki chuckled. Magnus didn’t know how to take it. 

“You said you woulds stays up for days composing musics, forgets to eats or bathes, and then passes out when you finallys finished it alls” Toki answered, smiling amusingly at the ideas as though it were a memory of his own. Just seeing it made Magnus wonder how painfully detailed he’d been when he slurred that story to Toki.

Toki continued, his bright smile warming everything around them. “On the rides back, you mentions demos… two demo tapes you and the guys backs homes all workst on when you trieds gettin’ Dethkloks recognized.” 

Magnus let out a hoarse laugh. His hand smacked the railing so hard Toki felt it vibrate in his palms. Magnus shook his head. “Pathetic, huh?”

“Whats? No!” Toki interjected, shaking a hand at the mere idea. “These things happens; writer’s blocks.” 

Magnus came close to saying, “yes, but for this long,” but knew it would only make things worse. He shifted to his left, letting some space build between him and Toki as he continued to stare out into the neighborhood, watching the last bit of cool morning air melt with the humidity that would continue through the rest of the day.

“I thinks you’re just stucks,” Toki said. “But looks around. You’re movings ons.”

Again, he wanted to point out just how long it took for him to start unpacking his things, but Magnus let Toki have his say. 

“You will writes music soons again, I promise,” Toki said, inching closer and killing what little progress Magnus made to get away.

“Well, don’t hold your breath,” Magnus said.

A hand rested on his back. Magnus flinched, feeling the warmth seep through the material and go straight at him. His eyes narrowed. Toki wasn't going to try and hug him, was he? Magnus clenched his teeth at the thought, but as he tried to mentally prepare himself for that close contact, felt Toki’s hand reach into his back pocket and snatch his crushed box of cigarettes. Magnus didn’t react as he watched Toki open it, count the cigarettes that remained inside, then mutter something in what Magnus guessed was Norwegian before stowing them on his person. Frustration swelled in his chest, enough where Magnus could feel it against his scar, but he covered his face and tried letting some of it escape through a sigh. 

Smoking is bad for you, he thought. Smoking is bad. 

“You okays?” 

Magnus nod his head, but kept from looking at Toki just yet. 

“Is better this ways,” Toki said, and although Magnus had to agree that confiscating the cigarettes was a great idea, he still needed to scoot away from Toki to avoid getting too upset. 

After a few seconds, he felt Toki prod at him. “I don'ts know what you remembers, but... is like I says last night. Just tries ans figure out what's differents? For your musics? Maybe gets rids of it and tries again?”

It sounded so damn simple coming from Toki. Perhaps that was the point; rather than get pissed about it, maybe he ought to consider the most obvious of routes to get his answer. Didn’t someone once say that the simplest explanation is often the most correct? Process of elimination could prove worthwhile. 

Magnus shifted his eyes to his peripheral, catching Toki staring back at him, waiting for some reaction. He looked away, pressing his teeth firmly against one another.

“Maybe whens you ams ready, you lets me listen to its,” he heard Toki say out of the blue. Magnus both understood and was completely lost when he heard the words, and he turned and saw Toki still watching him, but this time looking far more unsure of himself. “Your musics?” he asked, eyes wavering against Magnus’ severe expression. “Cans I…listens to them when you ams done?”

That was not a question he was prepared to answer.

The last time someone just outright said they wanted to listen to his stuff was… two years ago? Sure, there were people asking him to design some short mixes, the occasional jingle or demo for something greater. But someone who only sought to sit down and see his art and enjoy it for what it was? No money or other priorities, no promise of a deal or nothing to really prove: Toki just wanted to listen to his music. If it were anyone else, he’d have brushed them off. No, more likely he’d laugh at the very idea of just sharing his work with someone else. Shit, he’d fought over his sound a few times… he’d been that proud of it, that selfish desire to ensure it was purely his own design.

Maybe it was because he owed so much to Toki, but he felt like he had to try and get something out. Something that at least proved he wasn’t just talk. Because he was far from it. Magnus Hammersmith was a damn musician. He had the talent to produce great work, he just needed a means to tear it out from the unreachable fog clouding his mind. 

He sighed. “You’ll be waiting a while, buddy.”

“Ams patient.”

 _Too patient,_ Magnus thought as he bit his tongue, stopping the last of whatever cruel thoughts lingered in his mind.

With some persuasion, Toki got Magnus to follow him to the pick-up point: some open field just a few blocks away. Whether Magnus wanted it or not, Toki continued to talk about some old memories Magnus himself scarcely remembered sober, and was shocked to see Toki relay it all in extreme detail. They were mostly random memories, things that Magus could easily see himself discussing while drunk. A shame most were related to Nathan and the others, because all that did was pique Toki’s interest about Magnus’ relationship with Dethklok, and Magnus could only feign interest for so long. Luckily, it all tied with music, and before long, Toki was asking for titles of songs Magnus had worked on. Even as they reached their destination, an empty property lot that was up for rent, Toki continued asking Magnus questions about his past, and the complications associated with composing an entire song. 

He knew Toki was saying it just to rouse him. And it was working. The more Magnus dwelled on his prior accomplishments after leaving Dethklok, and the work he achieved afterwards despite being kicked out of the band, the less concerned he became. Magnus figured he might as well try and get some shit started today, not because Toki was so pumped, but because it’d be such a waste not to at least try.

Not much later, the jet appeared.

Toki eyed the descending aircraft, his hair blowing widely as it drew closer. Behind him, Magnus was glued to a fence, keeping a safe distance from the massive aircraft that would take Toki away. 

As the jet landed, Toki made one last glance at his phone, at the dozen or so photos he had drunkenly taken through the night, and singled out a quick clip he’d recorded just before he had raced across the street to save Magnus from tripping over himself. 

Toki didn’t know what Magnus did while he was away. Magnus wasn’t nearly as active on social media as some of his other friends, and texts between the two, while upheld, were not frequent, nor daily events. He wished he had the confidence to sum it all up as a difference between lifestyles, maybe blame Magnus’ age, but even then he caught Pickles, someone who claimed to not even know what the internet was, scrolling down his phone and commenting on the increasing number of crazed online fangirls willing to give it all up for a “taste of the dethcock.” No, the obstinate refusal to share simple background information went far deeper than a desire to remain mysterious. Still, after weighing the events of the past several hours, Toki concluded there’d been significantly more ups than downs. Magnus unpacked his things. He was playing his guitar. He was getting work and trying to return to how things were before…well, before everything went to shit. Toki didn’t delve much further as he didn’t want to ruin a good moment.

The jet landed, and as the assigned klokateers brought in his things, all Toki could think of was saying goodbye. He saw Magnus leaning by the fence, eyes on the overcast sky above, and a few loose strands of hair swaying madly against the wind. 

At the end of the day, he was changing. 

Toki pulled the end of his shirt as he approached the older man. “I gots to go nows,” he said, smiling meagerly as Magnus’ attention landed on him. His eyes fixed on the wiry smile, the same pleasant smile he had seen back at camp, only now it lacked an ulterior motive. 

“Guess I’ll be seeing you,” Magnus said.

“Ams sure I’ll sees you in a fews weeks,” Toki said. “If nots, I’ll texts you. You cans always–”

“Call you?” Magnus asked sarcastically, chuckling when Toki hesitantly stopped to fumble and tug at his shirt. 

He always mentioned it. Never a bad thing to let him know he could, if he needed it. So far, it only happened once, back when Toki messed up and went through Magnus’ things without permission, but Toki was prepared. 

“I know,” Magnus said, lifting himself from the fence. “ _I know_.” 

A klokateer rushed up to them “Sire, I hate to rush."

Still staring at Magnus, Toki replied: “Then don’ts.” 

“Your manager insists that I remind you of your upcoming meeting later today,” the klokateer said, causing Toki to blow a rush of air through his nose. “We need to leave soon if you don’t want to be late.” 

“You should head out,” Magnus said, nudging Toki’s arm gently with his fist. “Don’t want to leave that woman hanging now...sides, I ain’t going anywhere.” 

“Oh, okays,” Toki said, lowering his shoulder as he struggled over what he could say, versus what he really needed to say. 

“Sire?” 

“One moments,” Toki said, snapping his head to shoot the klokateer a testing stare. He returned to Magnus, smiled, then, with bated breath, said, “Thanks for sharin’s alls you did lasts nights. I… I thinks it was the first times you reallies talked a lot abouts your pasts and, _uhm_ , things that makes you worries. I knows you were drunks and all, but I really hopes you gets inspired, and you gets your songs done, and that we can maybes–”

“It’ll get done, Toki,” Magnus said, walking past and catching the younger man in his arm as it wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him into an awkward hug. Toki froze, body going rigid with surprise as he felt the half-embrace come and go, turning his head as Magnus dropped his, then watched as Magnus departed, his pace too fast for comfort, but his words engrained in Toki’s mind. 

Toki entered the jet and, not much longer, departed. Magnus turned tail, keeping his back to the plane long after it disappeared into the cloudy sky above. 

He was going to compose again. Right after this next paycheck was done and over with, he’d show the whole fucking world he was still here, still alive and still worthy of creating something magnificent. 

Magnus returned to his apartment, ignoring any mess from last night, and returned to his room where he found the guitar resting right where Toki had left it. Magnus partly regretted not asking about it, but figured it had to have been Toki who saw the instrument lying on the bed, and was quick enough to place it back within its case before he could ruin it. Magnus held its body tight as he reached back into the case, taking out the harness and fixing it to his instrument. He sat on the floor, back resting against the bed as he let one hand slide over the long neck, letting his fingertips–no longer as callous as they used to be from months of disuse–rub against each firm, sleeping string, and feeling something deep within resonate whenever he lifted a finger and felt a recoiling vibration emit from it. From a far away distance, he could hear the notes he wanted to play, the melodies he wanted to produce, and he stared at his guitar, knowing that it too wanted nothing more than to reawaken those black flames that ignited passion, and felt all the more worse when he couldn’t bring forth any sparks from his fingertips. 

He gripped the neck again, this time tighter, enough where he could feel the thinner strings press into the flesh of his palm. _Remember what he said_ , Magnus thought, and swallowed some air as he monitored his room, and remembered that he still had boxes that needed unpacking and crushing. Still irritated, but the idea did come with a reprieve, so he placed his guitar aside, letting it rest under the stretching light of the day, and left to clean up his apartment. 

* * *

The klokateers said they were making good progress, but then bad weather arrived at the last minute, and by the time Toki arrived at Mordhaus, it was pouring something dreadful all throughout the expansive territory. No amount of umbrellas could save him from the harsh, spring downpour. When he made it to the front doors, Toki was soaked, and he didn't have much choice but to change outfits. Even in a hurry, it took several minutes. He was still drying his hair when he entered the rec room and saw no one was around and realized he was late to yet another meeting, and spent the next few minutes racing across the halls to make up for it. 

He saw Abigail standing at the door, arms crossed and wearing an overly polite smile that meant he’d have to be extra good during the meeting if he didn't want to endure her wrath. His eyes caught hers, and he slowed to a sad little crawl, wearing a nervous grin as he approached her with an innocent wave. 

“Am sorry.” 

“You’re late,” she commented, keeping a straight face as Toki tried to slip by. She stopped him just short of entering, fixing his hair and snatching the towel from him before giving him an approving nod. 

“Thanks.” Toki continued his minute pace, keeping his head somewhat low as he entered the meeting room, catching Murderface’s snide remark and Skwisgaar’s sigh of relief as both he and Abigail took their seats. 

“Oh, heys Tokis,” Skwisgaar said without looking up. 

“Bout time he shows up,” Murderface groaned before turning an eye towards Abigail. “Making us wait…”

“Whatever,” Nathan growled, imposing a frightening glare in his direction, and stopping Murderface dead in his tracks from continuing a single word. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Abigail announced, then glanced around the table at the five men staring back at her with mild, if not completely feigned, interest. “Let’s discuss the next few months ahead. A friendly reminder of the work we need to put out–”

Murderface snickered and nudged Pickles. “That won't be a problem.”

Abigail ceased speaking, sharply turning her head and facing Murderface. “Something funny?” she asked, and her voice cut across the now-silent room like a vicious blade. “Mr. Murderface, do I need to call the Klokateer’s Kitties Daycare again?”

“Hehe, somevones in troubles,” Skwisgaar teased, temporarily ceasing his silent strums to poke fun at Murderface. “Hey, Tokis, looks at the little babys what needs babysitting.” 

“What? No!” Murderface said, sneering and looking around the meeting room as both Skwisgaar and Toki shared a delighted chuckle. 

“Alright.” Abigail's voice conquered whatever silliness dared to expose itself in the meeting room, once again causing all of Dethklok to go silent and await the upcoming news. “Anyways, we have a small tour on the east coast, followed by a few gigs in Ireland and the United–”

Toki noticed a pen begin to roll from the center, coming closer to his direction. Abigail went over dates, and Pickles brought up something about upcoming parties and shows. Not paying attention, Toki picked up the pen, and began clicking the cap and watching the ink tip pop in and out. He heard Nate’s voice in the background, obviously to support Abigail with whatever idea she had in mind, then heard Murderface complain about… _whatever_. Toki just wished there was a way for him to escape and go about his day playing video games, watching TV, or just spending it in his room doing literally anything else except boring business matters. Why did it matter if he showed up to these things anyways? He never paid attention, never remembered anything that occurred during them. 

“...so it’s really important that you all keep your calendars clear,” Abigail insisted, watching as both Murderfae and Pickles sank miserably into their seats. “Don't set any appointments two months from now, alright? Do we understand?” 

“Yes, ims fine,” Skwisgaar said. 

“Whatever,” Pickles muttered. 

“Would anyone else like to comment?” Abigail asked, looking around the table. 

Nathan raised a finger. 

“Yes, Nathan?” 

Nathan coughed in his throat. “Just wanted to let you know you’re doing a great job,” he said, resting his arms on the table, and eyes locked on her form. “Y’know, this meeting–”

“Thank you, Nathan,” Abigail commented, shutting him off from finishing the remark. Nathan appeared unaffected, but Toki could see the slightest flick of his cheekbones, a tiny twitch of the lips that suggested he was more than ok with being cut off. Even Abigail, who was always telling Nathan that she had a commitment to the band first, what with her being their new manager, was sometimes seen smiling a bit too warmly at Nathan’s occasional compliments, no matter how stiff or distant they came off. 

“Well, if that’s all, I want us to go ahead and look at this month’s sales,” Abigail concluded. She raised her wireless clicker. 

“Oh! Oh!” Pickles shouted, moving in his seat and capturing Abigail’s attention. “Can I turn off the lights?” 

“Go ahead,” she said, then as soon as the lights flicked off, started her presentation. “According to Crystal Mountain Records…” 

Toki rested his head on top of his arms, eyes half-lidded but still doing his best to pretend to look like he cared what was on screen. He saw Abigail point to a chart. Toki blinked and saw a new slide on the screen. He shut his eyes and could hear notes playing in the distance. He wished he’d been more patient when he chose to knock on that door. If he had, who knows, maybe Magnus would have struck the right chord. He could've been one second away from being inspired. 

He felt his dethphone vibrate. Toki glanced up and saw Nathan and Skwisgaar arguing about merchandising with Abigail. Keeping his eyes on the conversation taking place, he reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone, and the second Murderface decided now was the time to cast his opinion into the ring as to whether Dethklok needed Planet Piss condoms sold at the children’s benefit concert, Toki checked his phone. 

He saw Magnus’ name on his alerts. He made one last glance upwards to determine if it was safe, then opened the message: 

_Thanks for putting my guitar away last night. You’re a good friend._

He could barely refrain from smiling. Magnus always said it, but it didn't make it any less thoughtful. Toki’s thumbs hovered over the screen as he debated between sending a message, emote, or gif to Magnus. Something nice, he thought. Something that would continue to cheer him up. 

It sucked that Magnus had writer’s block. Aside from some advice, Toki didn't know what else he could do, other than be supportive. But he was already supportive, and things were moving so slow. Toki rubbed his forehead against the table, thinking how much more it sucked that Magnus probably didn't have many copies of his old music, on account of it all being lost or destroyed. His laptop was one of the many things destroyed from the invasion, and it wasn’t like Magnus could afford to get his hands on another. And he had writer’s block. Again, it was an issue Toki lacked the means to resolve. The record company took care of their music. No need to rely on a laptop or drive when the company saved and safely stored away just about any form of music they sent their way. Heck, even that one-note demo– 

And then it hit him. Toki picked his head up and waved his hand in front of Abigail. “I has a questions,” he said, interrupting her mid-speech. 

“Yes, Toki?” 

All eyes were on him, which normally wouldn't be a bad thing, were it not for half his audience looking less than enthused. “Uhm. Cans I haves a looks at the demos tapes?” Toki asked, fingers nervously pressed against the dethphone as he caught Nathan slowly raising a brow, frowning at a slant as he tried to make sense of his peculiar request. 

Abigail shrugged. “Well, I suppose the company might still have your demos from last–”

“Oh, no,” Toki said, shaking his head. “I don’ts wants those demos.” 

“Toki, we haven’t started recording anything yet,” Pickles remarked.

“I knows,” Toki said. He did his best to ignore the growing irritation aimed at his direction. Even Murderface had stopped leaning into his seat to better analyze the situation and possibly turn any previous negative attention aimed at him and direct it towards Toki. “I just wants the really olds demo tapes. The ones from befores you guys was famous,” Toki explained.

Pickles and Nathan shared a glance. Then, Pickles tugged at one of his brow piercings, making a slight face as he returned back to Toki and said, “When you say demos...you mean _those_ demos?” 

“Them shits we made all them years agos?” Skwisgaar tacked on. 

“Yeps.” 

“ _Wh-Toki,_ why you wanna look at that crap?” Murderface asked. 

“They were recorded on _cassettes_ ,” Pickles added, emphasizing the hypothetical demos’ suckage with narrowed eyes and a hiss as he uttered the final word. 

“Uh, I wants to helps Magnus?” Toki said, answering the question with his own, and only causing his bandmates to cast a serious shade of doubt. He watched Skwisgaar cough into his through before returning to his guitar, though his fingers seemed to have trouble keeping pace with whatever melody was playing in his head. Murderface straight-up snorted, covering his open-mouth and looking incredibly judgmental about it. Worst was Abigail: she just stared at him with the same disappointing look his mother often relayed in his direction, only far worse because he at least understood why she was disappointed. 

Pickles was the first to try and break the silence. “Ok... _well_ , Toki,” he said. “Well, dude, I’ll be real–”

“No,” Nathan said, outright. “None of this passive aggressive shit!” His hand hit the table, creating a loud enough smack that made everyone else in the room jolt. Unaffected by their reactions, Nathan maintained his firm, albeit incredulous, glare at Toki. “Toki, listen up,” Nathan said, narrowing his eyes further in a more intimidating glare. 

“Ams listening."

“You want to go hang out with Magnus? That’s fine, that’s your decision. _We_ –” Nathan gestured to the table, at the rest of the crew, “–will respect that. But, don't you dare drag that man’s business back into Mordhaus.” Nathan crossed his arms, reclined into his seat and watched as Toki’s broke into his usual, blank frown. “I don't speak for anyone here, but I’m done helping him,” Nathan said. “Like, I really don't care about him. _At all_.” 

“Wells, now that ims out theres,” Skwisgaar said, “I don’ts really feels like helpin.” 

“I personally don't feel like it myself,” Murderface announced as he reclined comfortably into his seat. “Y’know, just got a lot of stuff on my plate, what with this major Planet Piss promotion...”

“I don't even think I have the old demo tapes,” Pickles said, the only one indicating an iota of concern at the table. 

Abigail said nothing, which somehow made it worse. 

Back pressed against his chair, Toki gave a small, defeated nod. “I gets it.” 

“Ok, then,” Nathan said. He looked around the table, at the other members who were desperately awaiting for the subject to change to something else. “Right…uh, Abigail?” 

“Oh. _Right_.” It took Abigail a moment to regain composure, but once she started it was easy for everyone to immediately drop the topic and return to the screen displaying the budget cuts being done to the klokateer’s insurance program. Only Toki remained defiant, casting his saddened, downtrodden eyes to his phone, at the last message Magnus left behind, and feeling absolutely useless as he searched through a wide range of emojis, selected a cute, smiling bunny, and sent it as his only response before dropping his head on the table and spending the rest of the meeting sulking in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki begins his search for the long lost demo tapes, and learns something about Magnus along the way. Meanwhile, Magnus is in a mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I use a transphobic slur in the first scene. Only comes up once.

It only took two days of pestering from Toki to break Pickles, who then ordered several klokateers to go search for his “old shit,” and not bother coming back until they did, least Toki attempt to tug at his heartstrings any more. It took six klokateers nearly four days going through Mordhaus’ storage compartment, a massive labyrinthine warehouse hidden deep within the earth, and filled with more than its fair share of booby traps, dead ends, pitfalls and several species of vermin purposely harboring infectious diseases, to locate two plastic containers labeled “old shit” on their side. An announcement was sent throughout Mordhaus when word of their arrival finally reached the surface. When the four remaining klokateers arrived in Pickles’ room, covered in bruises, scratches and puncture wounds spelling out their eventual demise, Toki did his best to be as thankful as possible, but ultimately found himself completely engrossed in the plastic containers covered in dust and cobwebs over the exhausted status of his servants. 

“Is there anything else you desire, my lords?” asked a klokateer whose executioner cap hung heavy with drying blood. 

“You, err, think you can drop these off?” Pickles asked, offering said klokateer a small parcel of games and nick-knacks. “Like, I know you jus’ got back from storage…”

The klokateer assigned with the task stared down at the three console games, lava lamp and keychain handed to him, and replied, “It shall be done, sire.”

“Alright, cool.” Pickles wrinkled his left nostril, sniffing as Toki unlatched the first box, causing dust to scatter. “You can jus’ put it all under last year’s crap.”

“Of course, sire." 

The servants left the room, leaving the two to deal with the storage containers that, despite their age, were still clear enough to expose the dark contents resting within each one. Toki was currently preoccupied with the odd-smelling contents within the first, but registered the alluring mystery behind the containers, and found his hands coming to a slow as he began to pull out the first of many old things, be it VHS, posters or shirts.

“This ems all your old stuffs?” Toki asked, looking deeper into the first container and finding more peculiar artifacts he scarcely remembered Pickles owning at point or time.

“Yep,” Pickles said as he took to his bed. He fell upon it, bouncing once before kicking himself further into the mattress. “Well, all the Dethklok related crap.”

“Is this?”

“Hmm?”

Toki stood up, holding a pair of black boots, not too unlike the ones Pickles’ donned when he was a frontman, though in far better condition. 

“Damn,” Pickles said, cracking a dry grin. “I spent so much money on dose…jus’ to realize boots and drums don’t mix well.”

“Cans Toki have?” Toki asked, bringing the boots close to his chest while making the smallest pout.

“Sure, if they fit.”

“Sweets!” Toki said, putting the boots aside as he continued scavenging. He pulled a few shirts, all faded and reeking of aged sweat and stale air, and promptly stuffed them back into the container. He lifted things, moved a few more, before concluding that the container didn’t have anything of value, save for an awesome pair of boots. He moved on to the next box, which already proved more promising the moment he lifted the latch and removed the cover. It was filled with VHS tapes, several CDs, and a decaying plastic bag filled with cassette-like shapes. Toki poked at one of the many holes until the mere pressure from his finger caused it to stretch and give, tearing an entrance open. He grabbed three cassette cases, smirk growing wider as he began sorting through.

“What dids them cassettes looks like?” Toki asked aloud. 

“Huh?” Pickles dropped the bowl he was currently stuffing with weed. “Oh, well, fer starters, they had the band’s name on them…I think the second one had a well-drawn cover. By me, of course.”

Toki had sorted through another set of cassettes when the sentence registered, causing him to stop and review the ones he had skimmed over. “Waits, you drews them?” 

“Well, yeah,” Pickles said, shrugging nonchalantly at the question. “Everythin’ back then was done by hand. Cover an’ all.”

“So you drews the logos?” Toki asked, impressed with the feat it would’ve taken to fit it all on a small cassette cover.

“Well, the logo we use now was made after you joined,” Pickles politely confessed. “But yeah, I did all the artsy stuff. Cover an’ track titles: all written with a black sharpie. Not a mistake to be had, too!” Pickles seemed rather proud of that little fact, pausing to add effect as he continued to reminisce. “Everythin’ else? Recorded in our apartment, with Nathan holding that shit. Arms up. All the way through.”

“Really?” Toki asked, smiling dwindling the more he thought about it. Nathan, their singer, holding up a recording device up to a bunch of instruments? The very idea was outlandish. He stared at yet another cassette tape, and suddenly wondered about the very quality of such a recording. Toki only knew the comforts of playing in a soundproof room that captured each note as intended. But a sound recorded in an apartment? “Sounds,” he muttered, trying to think of something positive to say, but then gave up and admitted through a slightly soured face, “kinda shits.”

“Yer telling me,” Pickles remarked before fitting the bowl into its respective bong. “If you fuck up, you gotta start over.”

Toki winced. “That sucks.”

“Well, that’s what happens when yer a strugglin’ band with no computer or access to today’s modern technology,” Pickles replied as he opened a drawer in search for a lighter. 

Toki furrowed a brow as he grabbed another handful of cassettes, recognizing a Snakes N’ Barrels’ self-titled amongst the pile, but was disappointed that not even one carried the Dethklok name on it. “Was nots that long agos?”

“It was the 90s, dude,” Pickles answered back. “Did you forget? That shit was nearly twenty years ago.”

Twenty years? Toki remembered joining in the late nineties, just shortly after Magnus’ was kicked out. How long had it been since then? If it was 2014… then, seventeen–going on eighteen–years of playing? And then there was the time before that.

“You, uhh, find anythin’, yet?” he heard Pickles say.

Toki hovered over the pile of cassettes. “Nopes,” he answered, his own voice sinking once he figured this meant his search was already reaching a dead-end. There wasn’t much left that was small and rectangular shaped. 

“Figured,” Pickles commented as he began pouring water into the neck of the bong. “Pretty sure the second the recordin’ studio gave us the go-ahead, I dumped the crap.” 

“So, that’s its?” Toki said, looking plaintively at the container. 

“I mean, feel free to go through the rest,” Pickles answered with another shrug. “Who knows what I chucked in there.”

It was starting to feel like a long shot. Toki could already tell by the contents within that his odds were not good, but persisted out of respect for Pickles. He normally didn’t feel bad about getting under Pickles’ skin, but after this long of a wait, it would be a shame to just give up and try another approach. 

And it wasn’t like Toki had any other ideas. 

“Hey, if you happen to find a disc titled _Resident Evil,_ let me know,” Pickles said, bringing both his pillows against the bedrest before snatching his bong from the nightstand. He rested the bong on top of his legs as he shifted some of the weed in the bowl with a finger. “Been meanin’ to replay that game. The original. With the Jill sandwich.” 

Pickles chuckled right as Toki unearthed an old, but peculiar looking VHS. He brought it close, eyes narrowing in on the five half-naked women, black stars covering their nipples, and then fixated on the title. 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” he heard Pickles ask. 

Toki sniffed, head lifting at the smell of burning weed. “Oh, uhms, _Sadomania_?” 

He heard the bong being placed on the stand, followed by Pickles crawling on his bed. “Holy shit, lemme see that.”

Toki handed him the VHS, and Pickles stared at the old cover while donning a cheeky grin. “Fuck, I remember this,” he said, breaking into a fit of perverse giggles, “lord, this shit was _terrible_! Funny as hell dough.” Pickles crossed his legs and pulled the VHS from its container, grinning as he checked the quality of the film. “Shoot, I’m usually not into that exploitive crap, but this gotta good laugh from me. _Fuck_ , that crocodile…hilarious shit. And the evil tranny warden? Fuckin’ Italians, man. God, Toki, we really ought to rewatch this shit–maybe get the others on it and make it a drinking game!”

Toki made a face. “I didn’ts watch this?”

“What are you talkin’ about, dood?” Pickles asked, dropping the VHS and crawling to the edge of the bed. He rested on his shoulders, staring skeptically at Toki. “We stole this and that cannibal crap from the Chinese video store, located off the corner of Motley and Crew? The one by the laundromat? _With_ _Skwiss_?” Pickles asked, smile at an angle as he waited, expecting Toki to magically come up with something, but was only met with the same confused expression. “Dood, really?” Pickles asked. “We had a double feature for your birthday. I know we were fucked up, but– _ohhh_.” 

Pickles' expression changed, pupils dilating with clarity as he stared out, past Toki and at a memory Toki desperately wanted to know more about. He watched Pickles soften, reddening eyes looking off to the side once it was over, and appearing far less enthused about the film.

“Pickle?” Toki asked. 

“Wasn’t your birthday,” Pickles said, finally, before returning to the nightstand. He nabbed the lighter too quickly, then the bong, and took a deep hit, choosing to remove the bowl after a solid few seconds. He exhaled, and then, with a heavy hand, pushed the film down, kicking it further with a foot before letting it fall off the bed. “Sorry, I got it mixed up.” 

He coughed out large puffs of smoke, filling the room and effectively disappearing from the conversation. Toki couldn’t. He’d seen the cover, and he had a glimpse of an event he knew included Magnus, and the more he thought about the movie, its title and what it entailed, and Pickles getting _so_ excited over it, the more a certain question bore into him. Most of the time he spent with Magnus involved a movie, usually action based, but nothing like this. Toki associated these titles with Murderface and Skwisgaar’s midnight features, an event he’d been barred from years ago due to his complaints regarding their extreme selections. He watched Pickles pull out his phone, and the longer Toki thought about the question, the more anxious he became. Why, though? Toki knew the subject wasn’t forbidden, at least not with Pickles. Toki reflexively knew what buttons to push to make Pickles talk, but was ensnared in two webs of fear and trepidation, each with their own unique source. 

Toki rested his elbows at the foot of Pickles’ bed and asked: “Dids he likes it?” 

“Huh?” Pickles asked.

“Magnus,” Toki asked, feeling nervous just saying his name. “Dids he likes this movie?”

No amount of weed could detain the discomfort the question raised. It was clear Pickles was thinking of half of what made Toki concerned. It wasn’t like Toki hid what happened to him while he was imprisoned. Everyone asked, and at the time of it being raised, Toki wanted nothing more than to share and get it out and away from him. It was an emotional release that Toki needed– _still_ needed to happen.

“Shit, dood,” he said, wearing a conflicted smile as he shook his head. “We really ‘bout to have this conversation? About a violent film, and the bastard who–” 

Pickles stopped. He knelt forward, resting his elbow on top a leg while bringing a hand back to run and fiddle with his lower dreads. His eyes were shut, and Toki patiently waited for Pickles to bury whatever was running through his mind: those unspeakable fears as to whether he had missed out on obvious clues, or if he was simply looking too deep into what was just an old memory.

The second he did open his eyes, Toki was there, waiting for him. Pickles pressed his thumb and finger into his dry, reddened eyes. “Toki, don’t even."

“Ims just a questions, Pickle,” Toki said.

“Dood, I’m high and gettin’ some really bad retroactive guilt,” Pickles admitted, breaking into an anxious smile as he tried looking away from Toki. 

“Just a questions,” Toki repeated, but softer and more encouraging to win Pickles over. He watched his friend squirm in his bed, reliving the memory once more, and his face going soft and even fitted into a sad smile.

Picked sighed through a tight grin. “It’s jus’…”

“Just whats?”

And then Pickles frowned. “Jus’, we had fun, y’know?” he said, the ends of his brows sinking. He raised his head up, staring guilt-ridden at Toki, as though he were partly responsible for never noticing another man’s behaviors from so many years back. “We had a good day. I mean, I remember it bein’ fun. We had chicken wings, Dr. Pepper and dope… and when everyone found out the animals were real, ooh boy.” 

“Animals?” Toki inquired.

“You don’t want to know,” Pickles said, face suddenly turning sour. He tugged at one of his piercings. “Yeah…makes sense it was with him. He loved that violent shit. Pretty sure he liked it more than the soft-core torture porn, but then, I’m also sure Skwisgaar picked it out more for himself than anyone else in mind.” Pickles glanced down at his bong, then offered it to Toki, who refused.

“What’s about them cannibals movies?” he asked, looking eager for a response.

“You don’t like that shit, Toki,” Pickles retorted.

“Yeah,” Toki confessed, turning pink, “but dids he likes that ones more?”

“He had a lot to say about it, fer sure,” Pickles murmured, ready to detach himself further from the conversation. “Don’t ‘member much of it, though.” 

There was a lot to take in as Pickles flopped on his bed, eager to forget the memory and spend the rest of the afternoon hot-boxing. Toki remained sitting on the floor, picking through the decaying remains, absorbing all the new information. To think there was a time where everyone got along. Good times, and bad, but there had to have been good times, and it was only now, after years of silence and resentment, that Toki was finally getting to see it. In the several years he spent with everyone, Magnus’ name maybe popped up half a dozen times before fading into obscurity, only to reignite the second Toki was called forth on stage to join Magnus and their faux band. It happened so long ago, but Toki remembered the nasty stares shared between old friends. How was it the same people who barely could share a few passing words to one another once got along so well, enough that they all got together in that cramped apartment to watch a bunch of movies together? Toki recounted the details Pickles put forward and thought about how nice it must have been, how happy Magnus was when he got his gifts. He wondered what sort of dumb stuff they said to one another, whether Nathan threatened Magnus or Murderface for commentating during every scene, and if they got the wings from that one pizza joint that always put on just the right amount of sauce? Right then, Toki remembered the few VHS tapes he had innocuously glanced at when he went to check the contents on his shelves. Were any of those the movies Pickles got him? Were there other movies and gifts from Nathan and the others? Did Magnus still hold on to them? Did he still watch them?

His eyes rested on the remaining videos and games. There were no demo tapes in here, at least not the ones he was looking for, so he grabbed several cassettes and threw them right into the box, not giving a single shit as each case fell, crashed loudly and slid on top of one another. Toki crawled to the VHS Pickles kicked off his bed. He tried not to look at the cover for too long, but that nagging feeling made him do another quick glance at the bare chests on display, and even though Pickles said Magnus didn’t like the movie as much as the one with the cannibals, that dreaded feeling returned. 

“Pickle?”

Pickles snorted, then turned on his side, making the mattress underneath creak. “What?” 

“Thanks for sharins,” Toki said as he packed the last of the things back inside the container. No, there was no way he could pry for more without raising additional concerns. Toki pressed his lips firmly together, teeth biting down inside as he shoved the VHS into the box before slamming the container lid on top.

“You alright, dood?” Pickles asked, apprehensively kicking himself back up.

“Am fines,” Toki, smiling through the lie and waiting for Pickle’s anxiety-ridden eyes to look away.

They did not. Instead, Pickle's expression grew grim. “Toki, why the hell are you helpin’ out Magnus?”

It wasn’t a question Toki could answer. He trusted Pickles, but he also understood the faults of pride. Magnus was so prideful. If he ever found out Toki shared his troubles with the other members, Magnus would never forgive him. 

“Is private.” 

“Christ man, I don’t get you,” Pickles said, then pointed a finger at the containers. “You done lookin’ through it?”

“Yeah,” Toki replied with disdain, then brought himself up. He snatched the boots up, halfway compelled to toss them both against the wall.

It wasn’t much of a plan. Really, it was more an idea than anything, a dream he formulated at the last moment. It was a stupid whimsy he came up with to make him feel good, just like those silly songs in his head. Even if he did find the cassettes, it didn’t necessarily mean he could just hand it to Magnus and magically make the trouble go away. It wasn’t even like the music was all his, anyways. Maybe a song, or two. And who was to say it would even play, or that Magnus wanted his help to begin with? 

“Toki?”

Toki stopped short of the door and glanced over his shoulder, at Pickles resting comfortably on top of his bed.

“You and Magnus,” Pickles said, eyeing Toki with a less cautious appearance. “You guys are havin’ fun, _right_?” 

Surprised by the question, Toki broke into his crooked smile. “Yes, I ams,” he said. “I gets to watch movies and talks abouts all the things I does when I’m out. But–” Toki felt a weight tug his gut when he heard Magnus’ ominous remark several nights prior. “But I wants Magnus to have funs, too, and tells me about the things he does whens I’m away.”

Pickle’s stared, dumbfounded by the response. “You want Magnus to have fun?”

“Uhm, wells, yeah,” Toki said, then noticed how much more intense Pickles’ stare was since answering. He swallowed a small white ball of fear that had started to form in the back of his throat. Without thinking, he added, “Magnus ams feeling downs. I just wants to helps him, ok?”

It was a vague enough response. Surely it wasn’t enough to make him a bad friend.

Pickles eyed him a bit longer before shaking his head, covering his face with his hands before unleashing a guttural sound that alerted Toki that he had successfully struck another chord.

“God damnit, Toki,” Pickles groaned, shaking his head into his palms. “Fuck, alright. You know what, it’s a long shot, but maybe try askin’ Charles?”

Toki’s jaw dropped. “Charles? Buts–”

“Yeah, is no-contact,” Pickles finished for Toki. He dropped his hand into a shrug before sinking back into his bed. “Like I said, a long shot,” he said, sounding exasperated. “But if anyone has the original demo tapes, it’s gonna be him.”

The last time Toki saw Charles was when he was still in the hospital. He woke up one morning and saw the man sitting beside him, card in one hand, flowers in another, and very calmly explained what had happened a few night’s prior, and what it all meant. At first, Toki thought it was all a dream. Everything, from the moment he woke up to Charles telling him things would never be the same again. Charles said so much in those few hours. He told him about the star, the lights, the reason Toki wouldn’t have to worry about having an ugly scar, and he even told him the truth about Magnus. It was overwhelming, and made far more difficult as Toki was in the middle of recovery from weeks of neglect and abuse. Honestly, there were some things that flew over his head, but the last thing he did took from Charles was to listen to Abigail, and be good. Then he left, and no one in Dethklok, outside of the record company receiving a letter of recommendation from him to Abigail, heard from him since. 

But Pickles was right. Charles would know where the demo tapes were. 

Like before, it wasn’t really a plan as much as it was a hunch, but it was still more than what Toki had just moments ago.

He tucked both boots under an arm, and then gave little wave before slowly shutting the door. “Thanks again, Pickle,” he said, just short of it closing.

“Cool,” Pickles said, staring mindlessly at the ceiling. “Now don’t fuckin’ bother me for at least a week.”

* * *

It was late in the evening when Magnus received the first of many texts from Toki, beginning with him talking about the next break from work and desire to see him again. Magnus ceased eating his meal to take the time to read the initial message over and feeling antsy just thinking about it, and determined how badly he wanted to see Toki again despite it not being a good time. There was an incoming deadline, and Magnus suspected his procrastination would not cease until the eleventh hour, when things were so desperate he’d have no choice but to cobble up something so last minute he’d probably end up hating it. It was quite the shitty predicament, and each time Magnus considered revitalizing his spark, or just forced himself to sit down and work, he’d only be met with the same wall that stopped him from going any further.

Despite the looming deadline now hovering above Magnus, he found the idea of going out just the right distraction from the endless block. He just knew outright he wanted to get out of the apartment, away from reality and his unending procrastination, and just let Toki distract him for the next several hours.

He let a few additional minutes’ pass before carrying out his response, hitting send and partly regretting that he agreed to this invitation without considering the repercussions. There wasn’t much time to fret over his choices, because almost immediately Magnus’ phone vibrated again. He checked the response, _smiled_ , and then sent another brief text. Once he was sure the conversation was over, he dropped his phone on the table, letting it fall on top of the mess that had only continued to amass since Toki’s last visit. 

Alright, ten days from now. 

He’d see him in ten days.

Ten days. Magnus looked up at the swaying fan above him. He had nothing to show Toki, but still wanted the night to be over, for this week to end, and to get over this stupid emptiness that continued to persist and haunt him. 

He tried being nice about it. He told himself he was at least playing again. He strummed a few songs. He hooked his guitar up and managed some brief melodies he recalled from memory. He played a song; not his own, but something he’d heard and liked. Or remembered liking. He practiced for as long as he could, too. He played till his fingers ached, each digit burning and Magnus tried pushing a little further, hoping maybe to have those embers climb up his arm and reach the parts of him that were still frozen and lacking the drive that once consumed his essence. 

A pleased little voice reminded him he had cleaned the whole apartment. Magnus sneered at the very thought and hunched over the table, ignoring the stress that built in his muscles as he picked up a list of things he needed to get done before Toki arrived and ceased all production. He made it as far as reading the same damn line he’d already read several times, then dropped his stare to the phone.

It was nice to have a constant in his life, he thought, even if that constant brought on the occasional upsetting memory, or feeling of inadequacy. These days, the benefits were heavily outweighing the negatives, though Magnus wasn’t willing to acknowledge whether this was an actual positive or not. But even something as plain as them sitting inside and watching movies, ordering food online and bitching about shitty neighbors, or just leaving the house and walking and not having to hear himself think while Toki told the story of how he and Murderface went laser-tagging and used real rifles to spice things up, was shifting away from being minor pleasantries and into major events Magnus found himself reminiscing over at random moments.

Like now. 

_You saw how he acted when you tried pulling that hugging shit._

He read the message, saw himself reaching and taking Toki with his arm, and he felt that smaller body go rigid under his touch.

 _I need to get out_ , he thought, dipping his head and letting hair fall over his face and obscure his already limited view. He hid from the light to stare at his wild silhouette, listening to the uneven rhythm of his heart’s want for things against his better interest.

It seemed like a good enough idea, at the time. The hug. Toki wouldn’t stop talking and trying to get him to compose again, and Magnus couldn’t think of another way to reassure him. He just wanted Toki to leave without making things worse, that was all. End things on a decent note.

 _Thinking too much_ , Magnus thought right as his phone vibrated on the table. He had the phone back in his hands, checked the name and went straight to his messages once he saw it was Toki.

The question read: _what are you in the mood for?_

He made the terrible decision of reading the question in his own voice, and when he did saw Toki pointing at a bottle of some crappy sugar-free tea. When he blinked, he saw Toki standing before him, wearing some strained smile as he tried coaxing him to leave the apartment. He saw his hands reaching out to him, but never coming too close. It wasn’t for lack of trying on Toki’s part; rather, Magnus couldn’t bring himself to let Toki get that close, because at the time the very idea of them making the slightest contact made him unwell. But Toki pushed, and Magnus made the mistake of getting too comfortable, and falling for that ploy.

It wasn’t just a hug, either, because Magnus stupidly got it in his head it was alright, the ok thing to do. He thought he could get away being the first one to initiate contact. Now he was hating himself because Toki froze like a frightened little rabbit caught in the jaws of its prey, and this time Magnus couldn’t let it go because he believed he could get away with it without those memories resurging.

Frustrated, Magnus left the table to pace about in the kitchen, aggravated over a lack of options, an abundance of foods he didn’t have the taste for, and a hunger that delved between want for nutrition, and want for intimacy.

 _What are you in the mood for, Magnus?_ The question rang again, and this time it left a wave of disgust as Magnus fought to pull it out from his head.

He was mixing things up. That was it. He was spending too much time inside, too little time expending the energy he had. Somehow, Toki got mixed in all that.

 _Lonely_ , he realized, and shame surged through him and dampened his core.

Just fuck, he thought. Or maybe get fucked-up.

His keys were only a few feet away, and Magnus knew it wouldn’t take long to get his fix of literally any street drug he desired. Really, at most it was an hour’s wait, maybe two if he really wanted to be picky about it. _Well,_ he’d have to be picky, because it wasn’t like he wanted to get fucking nightmares mixing his prescription with whatever crap they put in today’s smack and acid. Really, drugs needed to be off the table. Pretty much anything that wasn’t pot risked putting him further into a mood, and when Magnus considered it, heard Toki scolding him for even thinking about damaging his already wounded heart.

And he was back to thinking about Toki.

 _Fuck it is_. Magnus grabbed his keys and went to the bathroom. He flicked on the light, and stared at the tired, old man reflecting in the mirror. He looked as bad as he felt, and no sooner did he notice this did his eyes fix on his chest.

Clothed or not, he could always see the scar. It was a damn nice scar, all things considered. Magnus had seen pictures online, and knew things could’ve been so much worse. Hell, they should’ve been worse. Magnus was damn sure he wasn’t supposed to be as active as he was, able to walk as well as he did, or breath as well for that matter, much less enjoy the pleasures of possessing what was essentially the “perfect” scar. Yes, the puncture left a permanent divot that was both uneven and unsightly, but everything else around it had healed nicely. The joys of having money. It certainly paid to have friends in high places.

Chances were, when it came down to it, most people wouldn’t care and would be more than happy to have their way long enough for him to earn his just reward. But even then, there was no greater turn-off than catching a set of eyes locked on it, and seeing their contemptuous stares. It was the eye all over again, but Magnus could hide that away. Close his eyes. Turn around. He couldn’t escape this scar, not when it showed on his back, carrying the same off-putting texture and discoloration as the front.

At least he could own the shitty eye; _hell,_ some people complimented him on the eye. No one thought a fucking chest surgery scar was hot, and no amount of hair, creams, or healthy eating could make it any less visible or change that gruesome fact.

Still, there was nothing on his plate and Magnus still hungered for an escape and excuse to leave. He still had no idea if it was for nutrition, for physical contact, a hug or a simple conversation, but staying inside the apartment wouldn’t bring him any closer to achieving sustenance.

After a few minutes of preparation, he left the bathroom, snatched his keys and phone before heading to the door. He didn’t bother reading the two additional messages Toki sent him, and silenced his phone. Magnus exited the apartment as he was, not bothering to change his outfit and figured anything was possible if he was desperate enough. Fuck or get fucked-up? It was difficult to know where he stood as he locked the door, feeling the chilled winds hit his back and threatening the scars with a long and uncomfortable night. With nothing to gain or lose, he took the sinking temperature and dull ache it caused and made it his goal to end up in another’s bed, or at least somewhere indoors, before heading down the stairs and disappearing into the darkening streets.

He made it past three intersections before the anxiety reared its ugly head Magnus dropped to his phone, staring at the bright and blinding screen, knowing he’d have to make a call at some point. No one just waltzed into a building and demanded drugs these days. No one just begged for sex upfront.

He had access to some old contacts who could hook him up. Perhaps not the greatest quality, but at least something to numb the thoughts. Magnus hovered over his contacts, eyes still on the unread messages. Honking. A yell. Magnus looked up from the screen, and saw he was walking right into a busy street. A car. Screeching. He double backed at the last second. The car swerved by, barely missing him. Magnus stumbled backwards onto the pavement, shivering and still glued to the phone. Someone snickered behind him. Another muttered ‘jackass,’ earning few additional jeers directed straight at Magnus.

Magnus held his breath, pushing down the rage trying to pierce through the blanket of confusion and frustration already suffocating his mind. He brought the phone back up and checked his unread messages. All three were from Toki.

_Well? U okay? Dids I say somethings?_

_Fuck_. One right after the other, with the last one hitting especially hard. The signal on the other side of the street gave the go-ahead for pedestrians to cross. Magnus remained at the edge of the pavement, letting people bump and walk around him while he gazed at the three messages he had tried to ignore.

 _No. Sorry, I’m feeling a bit unwell_ , he texted back, making a face as he did. He couldn’t believe he was lying over a fucking text. All because of Toki.

It took only seconds for Magnus to earn a response:

_Sicks?_

He replied: _Yeah_.

 _Oh. Gets better soons._ Just like that, some of the anxiety he carried was lifted from his shoulders, and all because Toki made him feel something other than doubt. He read it over again and knew he was just overthinking it. Toki wasn’t still afraid of him. He wouldn’t bother showing up if he did. The hug just surprised him. That’s all.

The question arose once more: what are you in the mood for? This time Magnus didn’t bother trying to cover it up, because he knew he didn’t want a damn thing to do with any of the fuckwits on the streets, didn’t want to fuck anyone or get fucked by some ignoramus who’d just stare at his scar anyways before having his way and moving on. Didn’t want to waste his money on drugs that only perpetuated the lack of creativity, and what was the point of taking drugs anyway if you were going to take them alone? Drugs were at their most pleasurable when shared alongside with someone. 

Embarrassment threatened him with its dangerous grip. Magnus was more than prepared to face it. He could accept that he wanted to see Toki. Magnus was willing to even go as far as to say he missed Toki.

He was lonely, maybe a little confused, but when Magnus looked down, his eye locked on to that final message. He heard Toki saying it, saw him huddled close to the screen as he hastily typed it out with his fingers, tongue starting to stick out to the side–

The lights flashed again, and people were allowed once more to pass through. Too distracted to discern any change around him, Magnus remained fixated on his sending his message, and didn’t notice when someone walked right up to him, hitting him hard in the shoulder, and causing him to drop his phone during the rough exchange. It bounced off its corner before hitting the pavement screen-first. Even with the sounds of cars and people passing by, Magnus could make out the loud, audible crack of the screen breaking upon impact.

“Watch it." 

Magnus knelt, picked up his phone and flipped it over, revealing the long crack across the screen. He pressed a finger against it, frowning when he saw the bottom half flicker and go black from the pressure the moment he tried returning to his messages. 

Then it happened. A drop of something black, hot and searing started to burn in his chest. Boiling oil poured into his trachea, filled his lungs and breath with pained rage. The muscles around his eyes twitched, and his heart beat vigorously against his tightening chest. A small match was lit, raised and dropped on top of Magnus, where it ignited in his brain, spreading a wildfire in his mind and hitting harder and better than anything Magnus would’ve shot up into his own veins.

Magnus stood up, turned around and located his target in seconds. Several feet away, but nothing he couldn’t easily catch up to. Easily outrun. Gripping his cracked phone, Magnus stomped over, grabbing them by the back of their hoodie and reeling them in with a rough yank.

“Hey asshole.” The words slipped right out of mouth. Magnus hadn’t even been aware that there were words formulating in his head, only that his vision was turning tunnel, and his heart kept racing, and he couldn’t let go. 

Could not let go.

He didn’t give the poor bastard a chance to even react before repeatedly striking him with his cracked phone. 

* * *

A long night of video games, texting and chatting online with friends, drawing and bouncing ideas from every corner of his mind meant hardly any sleep to be had on Toki’s end.

Sometime between two and three in the morning, Toki grew tired of staring at his phone’s bright screen, and let it slide off the bed while he curled on his side, eyes glued on his half-completed model aircrafts. He fantasized of the various ways he could reach Charles, of soaring across the ocean to return to Florida before finally being pulled into a terrible, claustrophobic fever dream that forced him awake just a few hours later. The sun was only starting to rise over Mordhaus when Toki rolled over, picked up his phone from the floor and grimaced at the time, the number of unread messages and posts, and no real idea as to what he was supposed to be doing.

With nothing but Pickle’s last suggestion to guide him, Toki decided he might as well start writing. After a few light slaps to the face, Toki shook himself awake and went to his desk to prepare.

Considering he was never great with words, he worked through a few drafts, each one fabricating a tale as to why he needed the demo tapes before concluding that it was pointless to lie to Charles, because Charles knew everything. After some deliberation, Toki fessed up in his own writing about why he wanted the tapes, and prayed that Charles, despite being somewhat robotic and strict in his ways, would hear him out.

The next issue was the lack of an address. Toki already knew if he tried asking around, Abigail would try to stop him, so decided that he’d have to find another alternative. This wasn’t his usual gut feeling, but a fact he couldn’t afford to not take seriously. Yes, they made it out of the basement, had demolished and replaced it with a home for wayward musicians, but that didn’t mean that neither of them still didn’t visit _that_ room. Toki did. He’d wake up in the same room, with Abigail, or he’d wake up in another, and she’d be gone and it was up for him to find a way out before the lights flickered and exposed his innermost fear. If he was still visiting that place, then she probably was too. Even though their experiences had differed, Toki still couldn’t blame her for looking so disappointed when he said he wanted to help Magnus. She got pulled into that mess, and even if Magnus avoided handling her beyond what was necessary, Toki understood exactly why she couldn’t comprehend, much less comment on him visiting the man who still had her tied and chained in a room for weeks.

He had no choice but to work around her. It was sneaky, and hardly the right approach to handling a friend’s concern, but Toki wasn’t ready to try and explain his side to her, not when she already had determined that Magnus was beyond redemption.

“Okays, you sees this?” Toki said, sticking a bright, decorative stamp on top of his freshly sealed letter, then offered it to a klokateer. “I needs you to delivers this letters to Charles.” 

“Mr. Offdensen?” the klokateer asked, taking the small parcel before raising his hooded visage towards his master. “He’s–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Toki said, brushing off the expected remark. “No contacts. I knows. Buts I needs you to delivers it anyways. It’s ams emergency.”

The klokateer gave an approving nod. “I’ll deploy an aircraft to begin my search.”

An aircraft? That wouldn’t do, Toki thought, turning his eyes to one of the models hanging from the ceiling. Aircrafts were visible, and were usually protected by other servants who asked questions. Not to mention they attracted attention. While the guys probably didn’t care, Abigail might notice. 

“Uhm, no you can’ts do thats,” Toki said, watching the expressionless servant stop in his tracks.

“My Lord?” 

“It’s a big secrets. Surprise,” Toki lied, plastering a bright smile before supplying the klokateer with a thumbs-up. “So, uhms, I needs you to travels by foots. And, uh, I believes in you,” Toki said, watching as the klokateer’s attention shifted between the unknown contents of the letter, then back to his master.

“Of course, sire,” the klokateer said. “It will be done.”

Toki gave the klokateer an enthusiastic nob before pushing him out the door, into the hallway.

“Hurries, go finds him!” Toki demanded. The klokateer gave a salute, then ran down the hallway to give himself a good head start. Toki gave himself a mental pat on the back for at least making another attempt, but the excitement faded soon after once Toki realized he’d sent a man to find and deliver a letter to another person by foot, which was easily the worst means of travel he could have selected. He watched the klokateer run further down the hall, growing smaller and smaller, until he made a sharp right and completely vanished from sight.

“Stupids idea,” Toki muttered under his breath.

He thought about chasing after the klokateer, but after a few seconds of debating it, figured it wouldn’t be worth the time. The klokateer was already gone, and Toki was still exhausted and hadn’t even had his breakfast yet. 

No, it was better to just move on and forget about the whole ordeal.

With nothing left to do, Toki returned to his room. His bed looked inviting as ever, but a feeling inside of him warned him against the ideas. There was too much on his mind: Magnus’s music and his sudden break in contact, what Pickles said, Abigail’s frown and Charles not being here when he needed him. Ugh, what would Charles say about something like this? Toki pushed his palms into his eyes as he fell on his bed, groaning.

Within minutes his mind started to sink, and Toki gave into fatigue. He fell asleep, sinking further and deeper into a state of calm until something flickered above him, and Toki could hear the distinct sounds of heavy feet hitting the floor above and metal links dragging across the floor. His eyelids fluttered at the extreme light swaying above him, and when he looked away, saw the chain in his hands leading into the shadows.

 _Closer_.

A knock on the door pulled Toki from the dream, snapping him awake and making him jerk and nearly roll off the bed. He stumbled his way up, readjusting his wrinkled clothes back into place before slowing making his way to the door to greet his savior. 

A servant, he wondered, thinking there was no one so polite and respectful when it came to personal space, but when he cracked the door open, he saw Abigail standing there, smiling. 

“Hey, there,” Abigail said, bringing a hand up and enthusiastically waving a few fingers. “I hope it’s not too early, but–” Her smile sank a little. “You look– are you ok?”

“I didn’ts gets much sleeps last nights,” Toki confessed, rubbing his eyes.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Bad dream?”

Toki’s eyes lowered. “Somethings likes that.”

“ _Oh_.” Abigail brought her hands together, thumb on top and rubbing the other as she carefully contemplated her words. “Y’know, it’s funny, I was just thinking we should spend more time talking with one another,” she said, bringing another smile to brighten her appearance. “Like we used to.”

“Sounds nice,” Toki admitted through a tired smile. “Buts today ams not really a goods day.”

“I understand,” Abigail replied. “You get your rest. But you are fine with me setting up a date for us to talk?”

“Oh sures. I likes talkin’s with you.”

“And maybe we can invite a close friend? Someone you trust?” Abigail added, cupped rising to her chest. “Maybe Skwisgaar?”

“The mores the merriers,” Toki murmured, resting his head on top of his arm.

Abigail clapped her hands together. “Great. How does next Friday at noon sound?”

Tired as he was, Toki made a slight face when he picked up on the date. He removed himself from the wall, letting the door open more as he stood upright. He scratched the back of his head. “Uhhh? Okays? Fridays, we hangs out.”

Abigail beamed. “Perfect,” she said, then leaned in and gave Toki a hug. Surprised, he stumbled, but fell into her safety net where he quickly found himself growing more at ease. He almost thought he could get away with falling asleep where he stood, but then she let him go, stepping back and leaving him nearly at a loss for words.

“Get some rest, ok?”

“I wills.” He waved as Abigail made her exit, waiting until she was at a distance before returning to his room to change.

Alright. Hang out with Abigail and Skwisgaar! A little weird that she seemed so stressed asking about it, and even stranger that they wouldn’t be able to talk until Friday, too. Then again, maybe she’s just busy? Charles was always busy.

Toki yawned, then shrugged it off as he picked out a fresh pair of clothes to wear. Abigail asked for rest, but by this point Toki knew it wasn’t likely to happen. It was still early, but Toki knew it was too late to sleep. He’d get breakfast, maybe get an early start on that one figurine he’d been eyeing for the past few days. As he pulled his shirt off from him, he heard his phone go off. Toki recognized the ringtone as Magnus’, and something bubbled in his stomach.

He hadn’t heard from Magnus in a few days. Toki normally didn’t think much about it, but with recent events and Magnus acting the way he did the night they hung out, the sudden lapse in conversation was unsettling. The unease only grew with each passing day, where Toki would make the occasional glance and see Magnus still hadn’t replied to his question.

But now his phone was going off. Holy crap, Magnus was calling him.

 _Is he ok?_ Toki didn’t want to think something happened, but when he heard the song repeat again, tripped over his own footing as he threw the shirt aside and hurried to find his phone. At some point, the dethphone had slipped away, and it took Toki longer than he cared to finally locate it under his bed. By that point, Magnus was no longer calling him, and Toki was forced to face that disappointing “missed call” alert, followed by Magnus’ name underneath it.

He contemplated calling him. Toki stared at the number and knew he should just call and laugh and tell Magnus he lost his phone, and that Magnus did him a huge solid because otherwise Toki probably would have given up…that was a good lie, right?

Toki’s phone went off right as he was about to call. Initially, he thought it was a voice message, but when he checked, saw Magnus sent a text. Toki checked it, reading it quietly as a surge of something hot, white and exciting raced up his back:

_Let’s fuck shit up!_

Toki pulled his bottom lip in while his heart pushed against his chest. He could feel the excitement in the message, the sudden, out-of-nowhere drive he hadn’t witnessed since before the funeral, and wanted to know where it came from. What changed?

He quickly typed out a response: _Likes what?_

Thousands of miles away, Magnus answered: _I don’t know. A mailbox. Car. Whatever man. Let’s fucking go._

Let’s go? Toki’s enthusiasm increased further as he tried envisioning the sort of ideas Magnus had in mind, but was left only with the blind impulse and need to get out and have fun after months of mostly staying inside. Toki could think of a million things he could do to scratch that itch. He _wanted_ to scratch that itch, and as he typed out his response, Toki heard Pickles talking about how Magnus loved violence–being thrilled, Toki concluded–and how much _everyone_ used to have together, as a family, and Toki wondered if, perhaps, there was the smallest chance of it ever happening again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toki and Abigail talk. 
> 
> Later, Toki takes Magnus out to breakfast, and surprises him with by taking his words at face-value.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one. Sorry.

The changes Abigail made to Charles’ old office were few, but impactful. For starters, it smelled nice. Not that Charles was bad at housekeeping, but the air had a very pretty quality to it, one Toki couldn’t ignore when he stepped into the space. Something about the delicate fragrance, the warm lighting and potted plants made everything both equally inviting and painfully bittersweet. Even though it filled him with guilt, Toki couldn’t help but think of Charles’ as he sat on one of the cushioned seats by the fire and dropped his eyes to the small decorative objects laid out on top of the coffee table.

“Oh, Toki, you’re here.” Abigail greeted, leaving her desk and promptly making her way to take Toki by the hand. “Wonderful, now we can get started.”

Toki was about to properly greet her when he noticed Skwisgaar slouched across from him, looking far less enthused. Toki wondered if it had anything to do with the lack of guitar in his hands. Maybe Skwisgaar forgot to bring it with him, or maybe Abigail told him he wasn’t supposed to play, but right as Toki raised a finger to catch his friend’s attention, noticed there was yet another person in the office. Leaving one of the chairs situated in front of Abigail’s desk, was Dr. Twinkletits.

“Why ams Dr. Twinkletits here?” 

Abigail sat beside him. “Well,” she began, and Toki noticed her eyes drift away from his, and her forehead creasing with traces of guilt.

“You weres bamboozled,” Skwisgaar answered, causing Toki to jolt and turn back to him. Skwisgaar made an amused, albeit severe, glance at Abigail, then to the doctor. “This ims not hangings out, but tricks by Abigail for intervenskons.”

The pieces were laid out before him, but Toki ignored it. “What?” he asked, blinking every other second as he tried and failed to accept what Skwisgaar had just said.

“Toki.” Dr. Twinkletits prompted. He tried smiling, but Toki was still stuck on Skwisgaar’s accusation, and couldn’t get beyond it. Abigail, tricking him? She would never. Toki couldn’t think of a reason why Abigail might lie to him; but then, Skwisgaar didn’t have a reason to lie to him either, and he was just as good a friend as Abigail. And why would Skwisgaar say something so awful about her if there wasn’t some truth behind it? 

Dr. Twinkletits took a seat with the rest. With a gentle voice, he continued: “I’m here because some of us are concerned you’re developing an–”

“They thinks you ims gettins’ codependacant with Magnus,” Skwisgaar finished, purposely speaking over the therapist in an act of defiance.

“Cosdependant?” The second accusation ignited a deep fear. Toki had no idea what the word meant, but hearing it did not make him feel any better. He looked to Abigail, expecting her to immediately defend herself and tell him Skwisgaar was messing around. He waited for her to start laughing and say this was just another mean joke between buddies. Skwisgaar would laugh too, and call him a bunch of names, and eventually Toki would be able to get behind the humor and and they’d all move one, and– 

Abigail rubbed her forehead. “Ok, _not_ how I wanted this to start.”

That reaction didn’t help ease Toki in the slightest. Why did she have to ruin everything and say that? It made her sound guilty. Toki didn’t like that. He looked to Skwisgaar, who only shook his head disapprovingly, signaling a horrible truth.

He sank. “Abigail, why you thinks I need intervenskons?”

He was willing to wait a thousand years for her excuse, but when she tried to speak, the only thing that came out was an apology.

“I’m sorry, Toki,” she said, hunching over and pressing her clasped fingers into her face. “I was worried you might not want an intervention if I asked outright. You and Skwisgaar both deserve the truth.” 

She looked up, trying for a friendly smile. Toki had a hard time accepting it.

Dr. Twinkletits coughed into his hand, forcing all three to hesitantly look his way. “Anywho, I was going to say some of your friends here are worried that you’re not dealing with trauma in a healthy manner.”

Skwisgaar muttered under his breath. Toki half-expected another rebellious outburst from him, but was met with the more troubling sight, his brows turning inward, sculpted face wrinkling with moderate discomfort that indicated some truth behind the therapist’s statement. At that moment, Toki was cornered. Skwisgaar had his back when it came to the lie, but not when it came to Magnus. Well, that sucked donkey balls. For a second Toki thought he had a way around this, a means of escape in the form of his best friend, but if Skwisgaar honestly thought there was something wrong, then–then what?

This week has been going so well, too. Everyone was getting along, and Abigail was nothing short of her usual, kind self. She never gave him a single hint that this was bothering her, that their upcoming talk was going to be a stupid therapy meeting with Skwisgaar and Dr. Twinkletits. This was so stupid and embarrassing, and Toki did not want to be here, to be the center of this unwanted attention, for his friends to look at him like he was crazy. 

“I don’ts understands,” he said, sounding incredibly hurt by it all. “Ams not traumatized?”

Abigail frowned at the question. “You told me the other day you were still having bad dreams.”

Toki’s cheeks heated at the reminder. “Oh…that’s…” His eyes nervously met with Abigail’s, only to immediately dart away when he saw the swinging light, the long chain in his hands, the heat and the increasing pull. “Thems dreams ams different.”

“And now you’re excusing it,” Abigail said, looking and sounding distraught. “Don’t you see what’s happening?”

“Tokis, you ams getting nightmares?” Skwisgaar asked, bottom lip forming a concerned pout at the news.

The pressure added on. Everyone was expecting a certain answer, one Toki knew he couldn’t provide them, not without making things _so_ much worse. 

“Uhms,” Toki pressed his back into his seat.

Dr. Twinkletits stopped him with a gentle wave of his robotic hand. “Let’s try dialing it back a bit,” he said, supplying Toki the reprieve he needed. Though not in complete agreement with one another, Abigail and Skwisgaar mutually expressed the same annoyance when the Dr. Twinkletits turned and shot them a rather questionable shrug before returning to Toki. “Toki, remember when you told me you wanted to talk to Magnus when you heard he was awake?”

Not expecting the conversation to immediately jump right onto Magnus, Toki frowned. “Yeah?”

“And I told you the only reason you should ever want to talk to him is because you need to get all that pent-up emotion out and talk about all the stuff that happened back in that room?” Dr. Twinkletits recalled, waving a mechanical finger at Toki.

“…yeah?”

He remembered. During his third and what Toki hoped was his final trip to therapy, he asked to get permission to see Magnus right after learning the older man was awake, was healing and would soon be released from the hospital. Abigail refused, stating neither were ready, and that meeting him might cause more harm than good. Toki made the mistake of thinking she was concerned more for Magnus’ wellbeing than his. But when he asked the doctor, he was told that if he went to see Magnus, there had to be a purpose, a reason. And according to Dr. Twinkletits, the only good reason was for Toki to give his side, and to move on.

“Get it all out,” he said, “then either forgive him, _or not_ , it’s totally up to you, but do get the hell out of there once you’re done.” 

The orders were simple enough, and deep down in his stomach Toki agreed that there needed to be release. Underneath it all, there was a good person, but at the end of the day, Magnus still hurt him. Magnus hurt him, bad. Everything in that basement was bad.

And Toki… really, _really_ needed to talk about that with him.

Dr. Twinkletits waited for the lights to turn on in Toki’s head. They did not. Toki continued staring back, mind swirling with memories of Magnus recoiling in the hospital bed, laughing miserably at his trashed apartment, snapping at Toki, apologizing, trying to hug him, and with all these conflicting memories flooding his brain, Toki unsure of how to react to the previous question directed at him.

Finally, Dr. Twinkletits gave in, and asked: “Well, _why_ are you still talking with him? Have you not said everything you needed to say?”

“ _Oh_.” A familiar, sinking sensation cropped behind Toki. “Well, we hasn’t reallies talkst about all the stuffs,” he confessed. “Not yets.”

Dr. Twinkletits narrowed in on Toki. “You guys haven’t had the talk yet?”

“Nopes,” Toki said, sinking further into his seat. 

“Oh…well, never mind then.” Dr. Twinkletits turned to Abigail and, with a soft voice, said, “He hasn’t talked-”

Abigail shot up. “I know, I’m sitting next to him,” she snapped, voice raised and causing all three men to jolt in their seats from the outburst. She huffed, slowly dropping her tightly raised shoulder before forcing her arms down with them, stopping herself from pointing a finger, or saying something she might regret. She tried returning her attention to Toki, but when her eyes rested on him, and he looked up at her, her expression soured. “Toki, why the hell haven’t you said your final words to Magnus?”

Bringing his hands up, Toki replied, “Wells, it’s ams a bit complicated.”

Abigail sighed, sounding exasperated. “You’re excusing his bad behavior,” she said, voice turning harsh. Accusatory. “Toki, you need–”

“Stops yellings,” Skwisgaar shouted, bringing himself up and challenging Abigail upfront with his imposing height and shrewd stare. Whereas Abigail tried to restrain herself, Skwisgaar happily jabbed a finger in her direction. “He clearlies don’ts wants to stop hangings outs with Magnus!”

Abigail leered at him, taking extreme offense at the outburst and insubordination. “Skwisgaar, why aren’t you taking _our_ side?” she demanded, not reacting when Skwisgaar’s upper lip twitched at her increasing volume. “You worked with Magnus. You know how terrible he was!”

Skwisgaar turned his head, obscuring some of his face with his long, blond locks, and briefly shielding himself from the onslaught of attacks from Abigail until she was nothing but heavy stares and hot, aggravated breathing.

“Ims true. I does know Magnus ams a hotheaded douchebags,” Skwisgaar semi-confessed. “He ims totallies fucked ups. Buts…” He glanced at Toki, and Toki saw the creases on his forehead, the tiniest hints of wrinkles surrounding his youthful eyes, and felt somewhat guilty that Skwisgaar was trying to defend him over someone he clearly didn’t care for. Then Skwisgaar sighed and, looking somewhat ashamed, added, “But… ams not gonna pretends Tokis didn’t already tells me Magnus tries to kills himself, and that he feels sorries for hims.”

Toki’s eyes shot open. “Skwisgaar!”

“Holy shit, _really_ _?_ ” Dr. Twinkletits asked aloud, then to Abigail, said, “you did not tell me about _that!_ ” 

“Skwisgaar, why you has to says it likes that?” Toki cried out. He jumped out of his seat, both hands balling up into tight, angry fists.

Unwavering, Skwisgaar replied with a heavy voice: “Ams sorry, but Abigail needs to knows why you keeps visiting hims.”

Toki’s jaw turned stiff, and his temple strained, eyes hardening on all the disapproving stares set upon. “That’s not–”

And then he stopped. That terrible anxiety that had him by the throat before was gone, replaced with something hot and ugly and eager to lash out against all three standing and sitting before him. As desperate as he was to want to prove his point, Toki knew if he kept on pushing, he’d snap at them. He’d say something awful, or wish something evil, or maybe threaten them, and Toki absolutely didn’t want that. They already didn’t trust him, and if he lost control over something as small as to why he still visited Magnus he’d only end up proving their point.

He needed to calm down.

Toki pushed the air out from his lungs, letting it all blow out his mouth, then dropped his arms and, still refraining from breathing after the recent exhale, began his quick escape out of the office. Luckily for him, everyone else was either too stunned, or simply didn’t register what Toki was trying to do, and it took Toki reaching for the door knob for Abigail to realize what was happening.

“Toki, where are you going?” she asked, sounding neither upset nor angered, not that it mattered by this point. He was done trying to reason with her, was tired of trying to get his voice across a bunch of people who didn’t even want to hear him out.

“Nones of your business.” Toki slammed the door behind him. As soon as it closed, Toki inhaled, only to loudly sigh and stretch it until it turned into an annoyed groan. He thought he heard movement on the other side of the door. Not thinking, he ran. 

He was too busy dealing with the raw emotions, the anger and the stabby sensation that repeatedly poked at his chest whenever he tried thinking, formulating words and ideas around Skwisgaar and Abigail. He didn’t notice where he was running to, and in his blind, but manageable fury, Toki ended up outside of Mordhaus, standing alone by the empty patio. It was early in the afternoon, but the air was still cool and moist, and it clung to Toki while he frantically paced about the area, trying to fling, wave or swing as much of the negative energy as he could, until he could finally be at peace and escape further. He went back and forth, hearing Skwisgaar’s cruel words echo in his brain. It pissed him off to no end. Who was Skwisgaar to come up with such a conclusion? What did he know? He wasn’t there. He didn’t see what Toki saw, didn’t know or feel the things Toki witnessed, endured for several months…

Toki stopped, spotted the tree that stood tranquilly amongst the barbeque and patio, and swung at it with his foot. He kicked at the base, chipping away some of the older layers of bark, scuffing the tips of his boot until his foot ached from the stress of impact. Face flushed with heat and uneven panting, Toki was so sick of it he raced to the table, resting and pressing his face into the cool stone while he held his breath. After a minute or two of firmly pressing his head against the smooth surface, calmed down.

After waiting a million more years, Toki exhaled, watching colors and swirls fill his vision until he took in a short inhale, where it all vanished with the sticky wet condensation that coated his face, and the warming stone imprinting on his forehead. His heart slowed and a brief, wicked melody began its verse in his calming mind, starting off just as jagged and rough as the notes he heard when he ascended the stairs to see Magnus, but softened with every exhale, until those angry riffs turned into a quiet jingle, a delicate electric show that flashed pretty lights behind his corneas to distract him from visions of his friends talking and planning behind his back. 

A few minutes of reassuring silence passed when he heard footsteps making their way over to him. Toki shut his eyes again, letting the black vision turn red and green, and holding his breath again even if made the music go away.

“Can I sit down?” It was Abigail.

Hearing her voice did him no favors. Toki pulled his arms up, forming a nest and barrier around his face and head. “Fines,” he said into the stone.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, voice quivering a little. “That must have made you very uncomfortable.”

Toki blinked, not expecting such an apology so soon. “It dids,” Toki confessed, and right as he said it, pressure started to build behind his eyes, and he secretly told himself not to be so quick to forgive, at least not until he had some say.

A hand rested at the center of his back. “I just…” he heard Abigail trail off, lost for the right words. He almost wanted to jump up and tell he understood. He wasn’t stupid. Then, he heard her say, “I’m worried about him hurting you. Again.”

Toki lifted his head up, resting his chin on top of his arms so that he wasn’t fully submerged in his own shadow, and could meet with Abigail. “I knows,” he said. 

She dropped her arms across her stomach, eyes away from Toki, but clearly obsessed with the subject. “Can I ask you why you keep going out to see him?” 

“He ams not all bad,” Toki said, staring out and seeing something Abigail couldn’t, wouldn’t ever be able to witness or appreciate, no matter how bad he might try to describe it. He felt when he said it, and saw her eyes flicker with disgust from the comment. “And he… ,” Toki continued, feeling his confidence already starting to drop, but pushed to say, only because Abigail was here, trying, “he apologiseks…”

Abigail dropped, squeezing her own arms in desperation. “He got impaled, was left to die, and when he saw you, mouthed the words in a desperate plea to–” She stopped when she noticed Toki beginning to withdraw. “I’ll stop.”

“Thanks.”

Her voice was shaky, and Toki turned his head, resting it on his side, on top of his other arm, back to Abigail. He gave her a few seconds, ordaining her the same respect and space she needed to recover from the memories that still haunted her. Each stared out in their own preferred direction, avoiding any sort of contact until the moment officially passed.

Then, while listening to the sounds of birds, Toki heard Abigail say in a hushed voice, “When are you going to see him again?”

His eyes dipped down. “Tomorrows.”

“Wow… _well_ ,” she sniffed, correcting herself with some silent mutterings Toki couldn’t make out. But at the very least, she didn’t blow up at him. “Well,” she said again, sounding rather stiff, but wearing a somewhat welcoming visage that suggested she was trying, “promise me you’ll keep a group of the gears close, ok? I know it doesn’t look good, but–” 

Toki raised his head up. “We ams going to destroy cars with explosives, so there wills be many servants _. Oh,_ and maybes we’ll get breakfasts.”

“Uhm… alright then,” Abigail said, undeniably baffled by the idea. She was being polite about it, wearing a mask that couldn’t hide the words she had filling her bright green eyes. Once Toki registered it, he couldn’t shake off the fear that once this conversation was over, Abigail would go asking Nathan, or maybe Pickles, or someone else and ask for their opinion, and everything would blow up again. 

“Abigail?” Toki said softly, startled by how scared he sounded when he called her. 

Abigail bit her lower lip, already suspicious of what he might say. “Yes, Toki?”

“Please don’t trick me again,” Toki muttered, watching Abigail crumble forward. “Just, next times… talks to me. Just me. _Please_.”

Abigail bobbed her head, eyes rapidly blinking when she registered the words ' _next time,'_ and sank even further. “I won’t, Toki,” she said, face wrinkling as she fought and lost to an extending frown. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I knows,” Toki replied, sitting himself upright and placing a gentle hand on her, and not the least bit surprised when he felt her arm wrap around his waist. “I forgives you,” he said, with meaning behind every word. 

* * *

Were it not for a lack of funds, an unwillingness to subject himself to being interrogated and prodded by white coats, Magnus would’ve demanded to know the point of being handed a bunch of pills if they didn’t work when he needed them the most, before proceeding to shove the remaining bottle down their throats. A voice reminded him slip-ups happen, and it wasn’t like the bastard didn’t have it coming anyways. Everything just kept on piling on. It was late in the evening, when half the shit they had him swallowing was on low.

_You were stressed. Almost manic. Ok, a little._

If there was a silver lining, he got some work done. Nothing quite like a few cut fingers, bloodied knuckles, a racing heart aching to inhale the sweet coppery fumes, and a completely shattered smartphone to really set a mood.

Once the black and red disappeared, and Magnus was left standing over his bloodied, weeping design, he returned home. He raced home. He ran for his life, heartbeat pounding and racking his ribcage so much he was afraid it might tear through the scar. He wasn’t even sure he should be running, much less the distance he did, because it wasn’t like he could go straight home anyways, not when there ran the risk of someone chasing after him, onlookers calling the cops, snitching and giving out statements and getting him deeper into shit, and Toki texting and him not answering when he should, like a fucking paranoid moron–

 _Alright, it was an episode_.

But the flame was still there. Right as he was starting to lose hope that it wouldn’t arrive on time, Magnus went aflame and let the intense, frenzied heat course through his shaken nerves. He was alive again, racked with fear and self-loathing and hate over the fact he’d snapped, but ultimately embracing it over the hollowness that perplexed and consumed him for the past several months. When Magnus finally returned home, still out of sorts, but otherwise coming down, the very first thing he did was obsess over it. That petrifying, intense moment. It reached the ends of his fingertips when he played, anxious and not quite in focus, heart still racing from the fresh memory, and his brain repeating that he needed to get something done, anything done, because the bludgeoning left his phone bent in two, screen shattered and beyond repair, and while he was trapped in this episode, couldn’t let go that he failed to message Toki back.

Two whole days of practically never leaving his seat, only ungluing himself from the sofa when the urge to piss reached the breaking point, the parched throat that burned for liquid, the brain reminding him he would need to take his pills soon. Soon.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

Magnus didn’t bother showering when he left the apartment as he eager to take the fastest trip to the library to download and send in the crap. Disheveled, face gaunt from lack of sleep and nutrition, and hair starting to form long, twisted oily curls, stomach concave and joints stiff, and brain screaming as he locked the door that the pills were left on the counter, Magnus hurriedly finished what he’d started, fulfilled his duty, completed the simple task of doing his fucking job.

He hadn’t even earned his check, didn’t know if what he submitted was worth a damn, but his next stop was getting a new phone. He was shaking when he arrived, jittery through the entire conversation and his left eye twitching each time he turned too quickly, and the shadows it produced blurred, sending an unforgivingly chaotic sense of the world around him. A voice warned him not to stay too long, and by the time he stood by the register, card at hand and fingering his keys in preparation for some hypothetical attack, was starting to wonder if this was a potential relapse in behavior. The worry vanished just seconds after he turned in his old phone, witnessed the disconcerted expression of the cashier as she salvaged the sim card from its shattered vessel, and handed Magnus his new phone minutes later.

Then came the high. That voice of reason suffocated in a warm blanket of pure and unrelenting joy when Magnus hooked the phone to the charger, impatiently waiting for the charge to reach a safe enough state before replying. It’d been two–almost three–very long days, and there was food that needed eating, showers that desperately had to happen, medication and sleep for a frying brain, but the when the screen glowed alive and Magnus saw that battery charge go from red to green, jumped at the opportunity to respond. A flood of memories returned, and he recalled their brief conversation, and could only think of one way to spend their day as he heard Toki’s question repeat in his head. His heart palpitated a sense of urgency that pushed him away from the living room, and towards his bedroom, and as Magnus continued reviewing their conversation, he began typing and felt that heart throb pour downward. Restless, he swayed and paced in his room, hung up on each reply, but never fully acknowledging that the feeling that had led to him leaving the apartment, that pushed him off the edge and resulted in him snapping and breaking his phone, had returned. Ironically, it was the lack the medication that helped Magnus grasp _exactly_ why he lashed out the way he did, because each time he hit send, he became increasingly aware of the small hot knot burning in his lower abdomen. It wasn’t until Toki told him he’d text him later did Magnus get hit with that horrifying revelation full force, and returned to the kitchen to down all the pills he’d neglected to take, before tossing his new phone away in some corner and hide and crush whatever deranged desire his brain was formulating.

It took only an hour for the natural comedown to arrive, and an additional hour for exhaustion to choke whatever strange thoughts still fluttered and tickled his mind.

Sleep was not easy. The dreams that welcomed him left him in worse shape than he had been when he tried falling asleep.

But at least he slept.

Days came and went, each one cloudier than the next, until the flames were finally snuffed, the coals dead and leaving behind only a gray, ashy memory. The dreams returned to the usual haunting reminders of his sins. He ate three square meals, or at least tried.

He got his check in the mail on Friday.

Then, at around six in the morning, he woke up to three missed calls and Toki knocking so damn loud, pleading for him to answer his phone and let him in. Magnus sat up, rubbing his face as he made his way out of his room, half-asleep and disbelieving any of this was real until he unlocked it and saw Toki, empty duffle bag hanging from one arm, while his other hand balanced a cup holder with two drinks. Magnus blinked, still somewhat unaccepting of what stood before him, until Toki beamed up at him, flashing a crooked, toothy grin.

“Mornin’ Magnus!” Toki happily proclaimed before dropping the empty bag, yanking one of the cups and shoving something sweet-smelling into Magnus’ hands. Toki took a sip of his drink before casting his eyes on Magnus; half-dressed, hair askew, and good eye straining each blink from the surprise wakening. “You looks tireds,” he pointed out, looking mildly perturbed for a second, then returned to his chipper self and added, “good things I broughts you a zebra mochas.”

“Yeah, I’m…” Magnus stared at the cup, registering its heat against his fingertips, and it dawned on him that he was awake, and that the pain stinging two of his healing knuckles as he gripped the cup was real. He turned to Toki, who was busy nursing his drink, awaiting permission to come inside. “Well, it was a long night,” Magnus said, stepping aside and letting Toki slip inside, dragging the empty bag with him.

“Gets lotsa works done?” Toki asked, sounding hopeful.

“Some work,” Magnus said, admittedly feeling prideful when he saw the light in Toki’s eyes brighten up the otherwise dim living room.

“That ems goods,” Toki said, taking a seat on the sofa. His blue eyes, almost aglow in the dark space, bounced around the room, picking up on things Magnus wished he could interpret. “Well, we needs to hurries and gets breakfast,” he said, peering up at Manus with a curious stare. “Bouts two-hours away.”

Magnus blinked. “What?”

“I says we has to hurries to gets breakfasts,” Toki repeated calmly as ever.

Magnus took a sip of drink, again to test if what he was experiencing was real. In his rush, he burnt the tip of his tongue, earning a jerk, recoil and covered swear, and Toki pouting at him and asking if he was alright. This was all real, and he was making an ass of himself. Magnus placed his cup on top of his coffee table cluttered with paper, dishes and bills.

“Why is breakfast two hours away?” he asked.

Toki whipped out his phone, searched up something, then handed it to Magnus. “Is in the valleys,” Toki said, responding as though trips to “the valley” just for a meal were a common occurrence. 

In all likelihood, it probably was.

“The valley?” Magnus parroted, staring at images of blueberry pancakes, sunny side eggs and overstuffed veggie omelettes with melted cheese on top. 

“Yeps, in California.” Toki raised the empty duffle bag up to Magnus. “You needs to get extra clothes. Ams hot over theres. Also, you has any sunscreens?”

There was so much to process in just those few seconds. Even with Toki leading him to his room, telling him to pick up the pace because, once they reached the state, traffic would get shitty, Magnus still waited for the moment for Toki to break into a fit of laughter and tell him it was a joke, because why in the hell would Toki take him all the way to California just to get breakfast?

“Hurries, puts on a shirt!” Toki complained as Magnus reached blindly into his closet, foraging and feeling something rough, and pulling out an old towel that he stowed into the duffle bag.

“One second, man,” Magnus said, checking through the content. Extra pair of pants and a shirt. Sunglasses. A towel for the inevitable fuck up that would likely occur. A bottle of water.

His pills.

“Give me a second, alright?” Magnus asked, pointing at the door and breathing out in relief once Toki left his line of sight. 

Magnus fished out something faded with longer sleeves and threw it on despite Toki’s earlier warning about the weather. His mind was caught up on the fact that he didn’t want to bring bottles of prescription medication, or Toki existing in the same space as him when he took them, watching him and coming up with terrible machinations surrounding _why_ he had to take them. But he needed to take his meds with food, otherwise it’d burn a hole in his gut. He might get away with covering the amphetamines with the coffee but the other shit was too strong. 

Magnus swallowed a lump in his throat, expression hardening as he pushed everything down, fastening the laces to his shoes and combing his hand through his hair until it was good enough, then exited the bedroom, the duffle bag hanging low by his side.

“Oh, greats!” Toki jumped up from the couch, causing a few loose sheets of paper to sway from the coffee table and onto the floor.

Magnus eyed the kitchen. “Hey, one second.”

“Why? You looks good.” Toki exclaimed, then pointed his thumb at the door. “Lets go. We still needs to get sunscreens for later.”

“Go on ahead, dude,” Magnus said, fixing a calm smile to his face. It wasn’t too difficult. “I need to grab an extra water.”

“Alrights, but hurries,” Toki said, already heading out. “Ams getting late. I’ll be insides the limo, okays?”

Magnus didn’t like the sound of that. He hadn’t considered their method of travel, and didn’t have the time to register what was in store for him, because once it was safe, he rushed into the kitchen, opened the drawer and nabbed several bottles. He opened the duffle bag, pulled the towel out and placed all the bottles in it before wrapping together and stowing it away, then went to his fridge and grabbed that extra water, then another in case Toki got thirsty along the way, and left the apartment, cradling that special gift Toki ordered for him.

“So, what’s so special about this place in California?” Magnus asked once he was caught up to Toki. 

Toki's pace was rapid, each step bouncing with such energy it started to rub off on him. 

Toki turned, smiling cheek to cheek. “You says you wants to destroys cars, right?” he said, then snatched the duffle bag from Magnus, taking several more quick steps and forcing Magnus to trail after him. 

The words sank in, and Magnus briefly recalled a moment where he texted a comment about “fucking up” several different things, but all of that had been in the heat of the moment. A charged fantasy of him and Toki raising hell together. Nothing that could be replicated by the common man. 

“What?” he asked, watching Toki slow and make a little pout. 

“You says you wanted to fucks up cars?” Toki repeated, looking less enthused. He tugged the latches on the bag, staring worryingly at Magnus. 

“Just… _wait_ , are you fucking serious?” he asked, feeling his heart start to pound when he saw how anxious Toki had become. How anxious _he_ was starting to become as reality continued to topple over. “You’re actually taking me to destroy a car?”

“Nots one,” Toki corrected, regaining some vigor as they turned a corner. Parked on the adjacent street was the dark, decorative limo. “I thinks it was three.”

“ _Three_ cars?”

“Yeah,” Toki answered, picking up speed to reach the limo. “I know ams not a lots, but it ams hard to gets nice cars to ruins at the last moments.”

The klokateer charged with driving appeared, opening the door and standing perfectly still, not giving the slightest hint of offense as Magnus eyed him suspiciously. Toki threw the duffle bag into the limo, causing Magnus to flinch a little as he heard _everything_ shake and possibly spill inside. 

“Uhms…” Toki muttered, picking up on Magnus’ discomfort. He leaned against the vehicles’ massive frame, eyes drifting between the entrance, and Magnus. “I knows you don’t wants to so anythings with Dethkloks related stuffs, but–”

“No, it’s fine,” Magnus said, stopping Toki. He cracked a wiry smile, relieved once he saw Toki begin to ease, and hesitantly made his way to the limo. “Take me away, Toki.”

“Alrights,” Toki replied heartily, then turned to his servants and started barking some orders as Magnus stared at the dark red and black furnishing that lined the limo.

There was a time in his life where he dreamed of riding inside of a fancy, long limo, on his way to an airport or hotel; a girl in one hand, a bottle of something incredibly expensive in the other. It hurt a little knowing this was as close as he’d ever get to fame, but as he peered inside to get a better glance at the interior, felt Toki’s hand press against his back.

“Glads you ams feeling betters,” he heard Toki joyfully proclaimed behind him, and the words alone, despite coming from a false origin, made it easy enough for Magnus to slip inside without much complaint.

“Thanks.”

* * *

The trip to the airport took about half an hour, then an additional 20 minutes to reach a larger, more over-the-top looking jet than the one Magnus had seen last time Toki visited. As soon as they boarded, their flight began its ascension, and Magnus found himself experiencing a rush he’d never known as the jet propelled itself into the sky at a frightening speed.

Toki laughed all the way, finding it all so amusing. Were it not for the laugh, Magnus might’ve wondered if he was being sent to his death, but once they reached a certain elevation, the flight settled and Magnus started to enjoy the ride. Unlike the average commercial flight, it was quite spacious in the jet, and despite his distaste for games, had to admit the entertainment offered on board was distracting, albeit childish. Board games and movies aside, Magnus spent far longer than he ever figured he would staring out the window, taking in the natural high he received when looking down at the scenery below, watching gray little squares vanish into bright yellow, then green, going darker as they flew over expansive forests and mountains.

Toki caught Magnus peering out the window, eyes on whatever was below. “You don’t likes heights?” he asked.

Magnus glanced his way. “Nah, just…waiting to wake up.” 

The top of Magnus’ chair shook as Toki gripped it, poking his head forward. “I knows, ams surprising, yeah?”

Magnus brows eased as he gazed at Toki’s cheeky grin. “Something like that,” he said, then returned to the window, eyes dropping on the scenery below.

An hour later the jet made its rapid and equally terrifying descent, and again Toki took charge, taking their luggage and shoving it into the arms of his hooded servants while Magnus clung to the arms of his chair, eyes wide and heartbeat palpitating from the intense landing.

They departed for what Magnus assumed would be the journey towards breakfast.

“Hurries, traffics ams bad in this stupids state,” Toki explained as he guided Magnus through the crowds of the now-bustling airport. Toki had his hat on, and the klokateers that surrounded them when they boarded and exited the jet had scattered, now hidden in plain sight. If Magnus wasn’t so overwhelmed, he’d have commented on it and ask Toki if it was a possibility if these hooded servants might still be lingering around his apartment.

Magnus didn’t have time to linger on his paranoia, because not much after the question was raised, they were inside yet another limo, and all Toki talked about for the rest of the ride were the makes of the cars he had purchased and delivered to the crash site, and how older cars evidently “blows up” better than newer cars, and the importance of keeping track of time when using a grenade.

“Grenades?” Magnus asked once he picked up on the word.

“Wells, cant’s order anymore C-4 exploskives after the last times,” Toki muttered, making a slight face that only raised more questions than answered.

Magnus didn’t think all the traveling, talks of dangerous explosives, and new surroundings would help with his appetite, but after being handed a menu and hearing Toki talk about all the different kinds of pancakes and waffles the restaurant offered, and seeing how happy it made him just to show off and tell Magnus he could order whatever, helped pick up cravings for something sweet. This was after drinking his lukewarm, sugary chocolate milk with a dash of coffee in it. And as it would turn out, breakfast was pretty damn good. Magnus wasn’t sure if it was “leave the state good,” but after being offered some morsels of Toki’s omelette and cinnamon swirl pancakes, concluded it was at least “clean the plate” good.

“After this, we gets sunscreens, and then goes out to plays with the cars,” Toki said as they exited, emitting such a vibrant, contagious force that Magnus was starting to feel it.

“I can’t believe you actually brought cars to destroy,” Magnus muttered in disbelief on the drive there. He was still having a difficult time fathoming it, and knew it would take him seeing the three cars and whatever horrible devices Toki had set aside to demolish each one to really appreciate the insanity of the idea.

“Ams fun.” Toki said. Unlike Magnus, he remained comfortably composed, swapping from one side of the limo to the next to get a better view of the scenery, and to point out the occasional sign or animals that caught his interest. 

Magnus saw cities, massive hills and mountain sides in the distance. They drove on a freeway he was sure he’d been on years before, in another life, most likely riding back seat while simultaneously riding a greater high. Green traffic signs pointed to exits and street names that lifted ancient shadows from inside his soul. They were far-off memories. Gray, cloudy figures that danced and teased him of a better, simpler time. Not good times, but times that weren’t so riddled with guilt and dissatisfaction. Times of art and music, and artists and drugs. A time where it was so much easier to get lost, and be found by someone willing to offer a temporary haven. 

“Whatcha thinkins about?” he heard Toki ask.

Magnus hadn’t realized he’d been so quiet. “Hnn?” he caught Toki staring at him, looking so fascinated like he’d been secretly reading his mind this entire time. It almost embarrassed him to think about it, thinking about old memories no one remembered or cared about.

“Nothing, just stuff,” Magnus answered, disregarding the question by shaking his head some and running a hand through his hair to keep it all in. 

“What kinds of stuff?

“What?” Magnus inwardly frowned at Toki’s persistence. What could he possibly say? He was merely daydreaming, if at that. Magnus shifted in his head, barely looking in Toki’s direction when he replied: “Well… _old_ shit. Nothing you’d care about.”

“Likes what?” Toki asked, jumping to Magnus’ side of the limo, situating himself right next to the man. “C’mon, tells me. I wants to hear your stories when you ams sober, remember?”

Magnus felt something in his chest. An itch against his heart. First, humiliation at the reminder of his drunken folly, but that hardly lasted a second before another, more distinct feeling erupted. The pain was minuscule against Toki’s request, and those memories Magnus struggled to obtain, once dark and covered in a thick fog, became more vibrant. He saw faded colors pour into each cell, saw stagnant frames come alive with movement. He felt slick oil and grime covering his hands as he toyed with early pyrotechnics, and he smelled the arid desert heat, an open field, Joshua trees and half-naked girls offering him baggies filled with false promises. He saw himself standing upon a stage, legs stiff and bladder full, and hundreds of pairs of adoring eyes glowing just beneath him. Thinking this, and seeing Toki so close and curious, Magnus recognized just how bad he wanted someone to listen, to give an actual shit.

He pulled the first memory that came to mind, and told Toki about leaving home and driving straight to LA, only to take a bad hit of acid and wake up in the middle of East Anaheim, wallet missing and no idea how he ended up there.

“I woke up in some rando’s bed…” He paused, catching Toki leaning in, snickering that whatever vivid imagery was already manifesting in his perverse imagination. “ _Well,_ I woke up in a bed, at least. Lucky for me, I still had my keys. No money sucked, but at least I had my car.”

“Buts you had no monies for foods and showers?”

“Well, I was pretty young,” he said, recounting the memory and being so thankful it took place when it did. He’d been so young, so damn stupid, but he _was_ young, and if anything, lots of people took a liking to that. “Once upon a time I had a good face, so food wasn’t an issue. A bit for a bite, y’’know?”

“Wells…uhh, yeah?” Toki replied, his smile doing a terrible job at hiding the abundant perplexity behind Magnus’ vague remark.

Magnus held in a chuckle at the obvious ignorance. “And I found a job eventually. Good thing, too, because couch surfing had lost its novelty.”

Toki’s eyes lit up the limo. “As a musician?”

“I fucking wish,” Magnus answered with scoff, and even broke into a mild chuckle when he saw that younger version of him scrambling to meet interviews, rushing from bus stop to bus stop, hitching rides when he could, just to earn a quick buck. “It was a lumber mill.”

Next to him, Toki snorted, covering his mouth to catch the remaining noise. Magnus took no offense. “Reallies?”

Magnus shrugged, lifted both arms up and gave Toki permission to enjoy the image of that lanky teen balancing between moving heavy loads of chopped lumber, taking orders and as many breaks as he could without being noticed. “It paid well, and I needed the money to get myself back in LA,” Magnus explained, feeling his smile grow. It wasn’t so much the memory, but how well Toki reacted to it, actively listening and visualizing the ridiculousness behind such a story. “Plus, they were willing to overlook my lack of identification.”

“So, whats you do whens you gots back to LA?”

Not a question of _how_ or _if_ , but _when_. It was stupid, but Magnus thought it so appropriate that Toki didn’t ask if he succeeded, or how he managed to save the money and get his ass back in the right direction, because he already knew Magnus beat it. No point in asking about waging for three weeks, sleeping on couches or freezing in his damn car at night, earning just enough for gas and a few nights in a hotel before reaching another turning point. He was Magnus Hammersmith. He could do anything if he put his mind to it.

 _Oh, wait._ Magnus shifted his sight from Toki, to the far end of the limo where his duffle bag rested. With so many things going on, Magnus had no time to even think about finding a private moment to check his personal belongings, much less account for his medication. What time was it now? Nearly noon? Was it too late to take the Bupropion? _Shit_ –

“Somethings wrong?” Toki asked him.

“Hmm?” Again, Magnus hadn’t realized he’d been staring for a while. Perhaps the white coats were on to something when they prescribed him the Adderall. “I…need to get something from my bag. _Water_ ,” he said, feeling his chest tighten as Toki’s eyes continued to follow him.

 _It doesn’t matter if he sees,_ Magnus tried reasoning with himself as he scooted to the edge of the limo, feeling Toki’s attentiveness never leaving him as he opened the duffle bag. Thankfully, the pills were all in their proper container, just scattered in different corners of the bag. Magnus reached in, feeling his hand wrap around one orange bottle before hesitating, experiencing that crushing weight of Toki: waiting, listening, being so damn courteous and responsive. 

“You okays?”

“Yeah,” Magnus replied, letting his prescription slip from his hands as he took one of the water bottles and raised it up so that Toki could see it. “Just, I was wondering if you wanted some water? I know we still have a long way.”

Toki smiled, and maybe it was all the red lighting and interior, but Magnus swore there was some flush of pink when Toki gave a nob, outstretching both arms as he tossed the first bottle up in the air, watching in secretive delight when Toki lunged to grab it, catching it in his springy hands.

* * *

Magnus tugged the base of his beard as he turned the pages of an old magazine he unearthed from the Firebird’s compartment, flipping through pictures of cakes, recipes and articles on minor celebrities until he reached the center of the magazine. He found the ruined image of Rachael Ray smiling up at him. Magnus lowered his sunglasses, mildly burnt lips pursed and nose wrinkled at the intense light that temporarily blinded him, but once he adjusted, saw that her eyes had been burned out some time ago. Leaning back into the driver’s seat, Magnus lifted the magazine up to the sky, letting it block out the sunlight as he tried getting a better view of the curious act.

From behind, he heard Toki kicking up dirt, sweeping away bits of gravel to cover up his recently failed attempt at writing out his name whilst pissing.

“Done?” Magnus asked without looking Toki’s way. He squinted, sure he saw some crude graffiti edged just before the woman’s chest.

“Yeps.” The car shook as Toki grabbed the top of the car door, jumping over it and landing roughly into the passenger seat. The bottom of his boots scuffed the interior as he pulled himself back up with his arms. “Alrights, so wheres to next? Oh, smashes it against thats!”

Magnus followed Toki’s excitedly pointed finger, and in the distance spotted a huge mound of rocks. He blinked, feeling the sting of sweat threaten the corner of his eyes. His heart raced as he brought his hand to the gear’s knob.

He was driving a convertible. A fucking Firebird from the late sixties. More importantly, a Firebird that Toki won in a bet “some times ago,” and had taken on dangerous joy rides before, and was now giving Magnus permission to destroy.

That, _and_ the black, 1968 Ford Mustang, and the modified, but still so _absolutely_ gorgeous red classic Chevy Chevelle.

It was over now, but Magnus could still taste the destruction laid out on the poor Mustang in the air. Just thinking about it, Magnus looked further into the distance, spotting the cloud of white smoke from servants putting out the massive fire. He didn’t feel good about tossing a grenade at such a lovely car. He felt even worse when the “big kaboom” didn’t quite meet Toki’s expectations, resulting in the younger man demanding that the servants pull out additional explosives so that Magnus could really see just how different car explosions were in real life. Magnus winced when a klokateer snatched the keys and drove several more feet in the distance, and then pulled a gun and shot the car’s gas tank right as he got out. Then, as Magnus lamented over his actions, another servant offered him what almost looked like a cross between a shotgun and small bazooka. 

“That ams a grenade launcher,” Toki said. “Thinks you can handles the rescoils?”

“Excuse me?” For whatever reason, Magnus took offense more to the question than the fact that he was handed a grenade launcher, no questions asked, to blow up a single car. “You don’t think I can’t handle a weapon? “

Toki made a face. For a second, Magnus thought he fucked up, but then Toki shook his head, long hair swaying heavily in the still, arid valley. “Ams pretty strongs.”

Now Magnus had to prove something. A quick lesson gave him barely enough knowledge to release the highly explosive weapon from its launcher, and even as Toki repeated the instructions a second time, Magnus began to doubt himself, but then he launched the weapon, and felt it fling from the barrel with such an intensity he stumbled back, Toki catching Magnus in his arms as he nearly fell. He thought for sure the damn grenade would end up anywhere but the car, but some few seconds later, as he dropped the launcher and thanked Toki for the unneeded help, he heard the loud boom. He turned, eyes going wide with shock as he stared at the massive dust storm and combined hellfire mix and twirl in the center of the dry valley. Bits of gravel shot up in the air, hitting him in the face. The dust settled, and Magnus’s heart jumped with elation when he caught the flaming car standing on its side, unleashing a huge black storm of smoke from its underbelly.

“Oh heys,” Toki said, smacking Magnus at the center of his back. “You dids it!” He pointed at the ruined car, his grin spreading as the Mustang groaned from the metal doors giving under from the car’s own weight, and wheels expanding under the heat, and fell on its topside.

He did it. Magnus blew up a car worth more than him, and as the smoke grew heavier and left a dangerous aftertaste in the back of his mouth, Magnus only thought of how good it felt. How powerful it made him feel to destroy something so expensive, to not have to worry about the repercussions, and be congratulated for having done it.

It got easier after that. Shortly after returning to the remaining cars, Toki asked which one he’d like to drive and crash, explaining that the make of either model could handle most impacts below fifty miles per hour.

He locked on to the Firebird. Ever since his father handed him a model toy, he always wanted a Firebird. And it was a fucking convertible, too. It was the kind of car all the great classic, B-movie heroes of his early teens drove, and now it was finally his to command, if only until he crashed it against some boulder, or off a cliff. Sure, it wasn’t the right color, and he couldn’t stand that Toki thought it was ok to add white tires to this particular model, but it didn’t change the fact that Magnus never had the pleasure of driving a convertible, much less be told he could do whatever he wanted with it.

Breaking sixty was easy. Seventy came right after, and as Magnus readied to decrease speed for a sudden turn, Toki begged him to go faster, laughing through the heat and gust. His hands gripped Magnus’ left arm, delicately, with fingers just barely curling and touching his skin. As Magnus slowed, he shifted his gaze, eyes focused on how small Toki’s eyes were when he squinted, the shade they made when his cheeks rose so high, turning his eyes into two, blue crescents that reminded Magnus of cloudy skies or drizzling rain, and Toki telling him through laughs that it was fine, that breaking eighty was normal, that no one was around to tell them otherwise.

Toki trusted him. He trusted him to throw a grenade, to work a grenade launcher, and drive them through a desert, leaving behind loyal guards trained to kill, because why not? That’s all it was to Toki, and it sure as hell wasn’t always like that. Just thinking about it made Magnus’ brain burst with endorphins. Every bit of him surged with excitement. Actual happiness. All on his own. 

He shifted gears and drove faster, pushing seventy again, then eighty, and managed to reach ninety before the increasing heat from the air pelted his face too hard, pushed against his outfit and burned his skin. He hit the brakes, looking behind and jaw dropping in childish wonderment at the long, elevating trail of dust he created. Toki slumped in his seat, giggling through excited breaths. Magnus exhaled, body breaking into a fit of shivers from the sudden drop of speed and adrenaline, and the overwhelming disbelief that this was all still happening.

Now, it was easy. They drove around some more, hitting dangerous speeds before making wide, but questionable turns. Magnus, picking long sleeves, removed his shirt and let the desert sun burn his shoulders while Toki playfully mocked him for forgetting to apply sunscreen. He tried for the triple digits right after, somewhat thankful that he didn’t have the added heat from the shirt, but wishing he had something to keep his hair in place, to appear as cool and in control as he felt at this moment. He broke the barrier, just briefly, because the blasting heat from the winds was too much, even with the sunglasses and air conditioner at full blast. Toki suggested bringing the hood back to cover the two of them, but Magnus happily ridiculed the idea, likening it to a weakness.

Not much longer, Toki needed to piss, and after finding a nice spot, Magnus pulled a magazine he found in the glove compartment while Toki jumped ship. 

Which now brought Magnus to decide whether he was ready or not to crash his dream car. Some miles off was another car waiting to be driven, enjoyed before it was either driven off a cliff, or the two of them got bored with the destruction, and craved something else. Magnus couldn’t guess where’d he’d be in the next five minutes, only knew that _right now_ his heart was racing, that it was so incredibly hot and he forgot his water bottle on the small table of explosives, and Toki was sinking further into his seat, letting his shirt roll up and expose some of his pale, but deliciously chiseled stomach. He held onto the steering wheel, feeling the leather groan under his tightening grip and took in the high as his right hand hovered over the knob.

Can a Firebird drift? Magnus halted, bringing his hand outside of the door, and knocked on the metal frame. He adored the fine design and craftsmanship, but knew that the vehicle was likely too heavy to handle a quick, rough turn, a sudden change in the gears and foot slamming on the break.

But still… could it drift? Oh, fuck, he would look so damn awesome– _straight out of a movie_ –if he pulled that shit off without a hitch.

“What’s wrong?” Toki asked, breaking Magnus’ concentration. Next to him, Toki snickered, already hatching some poor attempt at teasing him into destroying the car. “Ams you scared? Needs Toki to do its?”

That got Magnus going. “No way,” he answered, mirroring Toki’s snicker with his own, and taking in that wonderful feeling when Toki only brushed it off with a wave. “Just. Well, you mind if I try something?”

“Whats?”

Magnus swallowed. “Drifting,” he answered, detecting his own nervousness in his voice. Considering the year, make and weight of the car, it was more than warranted.

Toki shrugged. “Ams totally fines!” he exclaimed, unsticking himself from the seat, and sitting himself back up in preparation. Whether Magnus knew it or not, his eyes remained fixed on Toki’s stomach the second he pulled the shirt back down. He lifted his eyes only when he heard the click of a seatbelt.

“You sure, man?” Magnus asked, still a little unsure.

“We ams having funs, right? So whatevers,” Toki answered. He said it so casually. No, less than that. He was done with the conversation. Toki legitimately didn’t care what Magnus did, so long as they remained in one piece, and if that shrug and seatbelt meant anything, the guy trusted him to drift with a Firebird. 

And then there was _that_ word. 

Fun. Toki was having fun. Toki was having fun _with_ him. Toki was having fun with him without the involvement of alcohol.

“Alright, dude,” Magnus said, fighting to keep himself under control. He exhaled, feeling the stagger of his own breath, and pressed his heel against the accelerator. 

Toki sat up, closing his eyes and enjoying the winds, no matter how hot. Magnus pushed against the accelerator, increasing speed. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. How fast could he go with a car this heavy? Surely nothing beyond sixty, not if he didn’t want to risk Toki’s wellbeing.

Pick a turn, he thought, right as he steadied his arm in preparation for the turn. Envision a corner, commit, and make the turn. Magnus readied his foot against the clutch. Toki detected the final act of commitment, and suddenly gripped the car door while readying a finger over the convertible’s roof button in case something went wrong. 

The engine revved, and Magnus hit the clutch, shifting the gear, and hastily turned the wheel with both hands. Too sudden, and he felt a disturbing shift in gravity, the balance of his weight coming undone as the Firebird’s left wheels lifted from the earth. A mass of his long, thick hair obscured his vision. Magnus gripped the wheel, holding his breath, waiting for it all to be over, but then the wheels touched the earth. The gravity shifted again, and Magnus listened to the car screech and yell before complying to his demands, the engine spitting out inaudible swears as it dragged and drifted against the dry ground, exhaling a vast amount of smoke in its wake.

Toki screams something. Magnus thought it was fright, but when he turned he saw the young man shouting, hand clapping but making zero sense in the loud chaos. The car continued to drift, almost achieving a wide, 180 degree turn, before coming to a full stop.

“Holy shits, Magnus!” Toki yelled, undoing his seat belt and nearly jumping from his seat to congratulate him. 

No red. No black. No whiting out and only coming to once it was all over. His heart was racing, lungs heaving and his entire body shaking, and his head was spinning and despite all the symptoms being there, he felt nothing short of pure joy. The dust scattered bit by bit, fragment by fragment, but Toki remained by his side, laughing aloud at how close they’d come to tipping over. Toki had a hand over his heart, another outstretched to him, reaching and _touching_ him, gripping his arm and shaking it and telling him “good job,” and Magnus could not let go. Just like before, the feeling choked him, stopped him from moving on, fixed him into place, but instead of red filling his vision, consuming his soul and setting it ablaze in an uncontrollable rage, Magnus only saw the blue of Toki’s eyes staring at him, and his mouth forming sounds and words that were lost on him.

Just the white light above, and the blue eyes so close, calling for him to come closer. To hold on. Grab. Hold on to, and never let go.

Couldn’t let go.

Don’t let go.

 _Don’t ever let this moment go_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day separated from the klokateers, Toki and Magnus sneak into a cemetery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm likely to return and edit this more, but it's been several months since I updated this, and I need validation. Thank you so much for the wait, and I hope it was worth it :)
> 
> Warning: Contains graphic violence

The ride to Magnus’ old apartment had been so promising. Toki remembered the amount of convincing it took to get Magnus to take him up on the offer to drive him back to his place. Since his rescue, Magnus’ stay at the hospital yielded no visitors, and the car he used to move Toki and Abigail was never located, which meant his methods of returning home were drastically limited. The guys called it karma, but Toki didn’t see it the same way. No visitors meant no one to look after him when the time came for Magnus to leave the hospital, and no method of transportation essentially left him stranded. Magnus had been far from hospitable; during most of the visits he was distant, cold and apprehensive, but Toki didn’t want to think of how Magnus would get home after being discharged from the hospital. Magnus was callous, but that didn’t mean he deserved to wait in the cold for a bus to take him home.  
  
Toki was still cautious around Magnus, wary of those unpredictable moments where he’d jump on the defensive and snap at someone. Under the guidance of his therapist, Toki made his presence known before entering the hospital room, never stared too long at Magnus, and avoided accusatory words. For now.  
  
Toki was careful that day, and told Magnus it was his final favor to him. It was supposed to be the last nice thing he did for Magnus, because after so many visits trying and failing to talk about what happened in the basement, Toki knew once he dropped Magnus off, that neither would likely ever speak to one another again. Whatever relations they had prior to all of this would effectively be severed, likely by both parties. Taking Magnus home would be the very last nice thing Toki would ever do for him because, the second they were alone in that apartment, he’d force Magnus to listen to him, and they’d discuss all the godforsaken acts of torment Magnus put him through while he was locked in that scary room. After wasting so much of their time, Toki would finally share all the fear, frustration and confusion nestled inside.  
  
He didn’t know why he thought Magnus would be the one to share first. In hindsight, it was stupid for Toki to wait for Magnus to say something. He wasn’t sure why he did it, other than he was too afraid to bring it up on his own. Just thinking about the event left him nauseous, made being in the same room with Magnus more unsettling than it already was. Attempting to vocalize it outside of therapy resulted in a locked throat, an unending choke that made trying to breathe a difficulty. No, that wasn’t the only reason. Toki kept his mouth shut because he hoped, prayed that the good in Magnus would reawaken, and the older man would see to it to partake in the burden, share the responsibility and start the dreaded conversation.  
  
Toki waited patiently, smiling and listening to Magnus tell him he looked good, that he was gaining weight, that he should waste his time elsewhere. Toki persisted through the awkward conversations, politely offered Magnus water, snacks from the vending machine, feeling glimmers of anticipation build whenever Magnus stared long and thanked him, told him he was too good, that Toki deserved a better friend. The validation, though not the acknowledgement Toki desired, did make him feel important. Magnus referring to him as a friend, though questionable at points, helped Toki persevere and continue their visitations. Magnus calm, whispering “hello,” or correcting himself and aiming bouts of frustration elsewhere for his guests’ sake, made Toki less afraid.   
  
Maybe that was why he didn’t think too much about their relationship, what it was and where it stood, until Toki realized it was all finally coming to an end. As nice and patient as Toki was, he knew Magnus would vanish the second they parted, and used that impending threat as a drive to get Magnus to follow him out of the hospital, and over to their death-themed chariot.  
  
In some ways, Toki regretted not bringing it up on the ride over. He’d been so anxious at the time, fretfully bouncing from one topic to the next to stir a conversation, keeping relations positive long enough until they reached their destination. He couldn’t remember what the plan was once he got everything off his chest, or even if there was a plan to begin with, just that he was going to speak with Magnus when they were inside the apartment, and Magnus had settled…to a couch? Bed? Did Toki plan on helping him inside, or did he intend on asking a klokateer to do the heavy lifting?  
  
The gear charged with driving alerted Toki they had ten minutes before reaching their destination, and just like that, Toki was hit with all the cruel acts, the mental and physical abuse that Magnus lashed out, performed with an alarming sense of ease. Punishments that, much like the ones devised by his father, hardly fit the sins Magnus accused Toki of enacting.  
  
The hitting. The swears. The endless threats.  
  
Making him crawl on fours. Beg for water.  
  
Forcing him to watch _The Dethklok Minute_ and see his friends party without him.  
  
Being so… _mean_.  
  
“Thanks,” Magnus said shortly after the klokateer closed the limo’s partition.  
  
His voice made Toki shiver. He remembered the low, sharp intake of his breath breaking the silence, and scaring Toki right out of his own thoughts.  
  
Toki squirmed in his seat. “What?” he asked, hesitant to meet with Magnus directly, and keeping his eyes settled more on the older man’s bandaged chest and crossed arms.  
  
“For the ride,” Magnus said, turning his head towards the tinted window. Toki expected that was all, but then Magnus, reflecting Toki, uncomfortably shifted on top of the cushioned seat. He frowned. “You really didn’t have to do this for me. I don’t deserve it.”  
  
Harsh as it came off, Toki appreciated the recognition, and it hurt knowing this would, was supposed to be the very last nice thing Magnus said to him before they departed.  
  
This was supposed to be the last day they ever talked.  
  
Then they noticed the tape on the door. Toki drew closer, steps tiny in comparison to Magnus uneven, fatigued gait, at the busted door lined with “Caution” tape, and when Toki stopped, too scared to move onwards, watched Magnus quietly enter the apartment.  
  
He stood amongst the rubble: a thin, frail figure that climbed past shattered lamps, broken drawers and splintered wood just to reach the center and crumble before the mountains of rubbish. The light of a nearby, cracked window cast a ray on the miserable scene, over the piles of wreckage, wall plaster and insulation. There was garbage, pieces of plastic, glass, faux wood, feathers and discarded artifacts tossed aside in favor of furthering a search for some clues. An old, soured stench carried itself in the stuffy air; rotten food that had since decayed and dried over the course of months now stained the walls and decrepit furniture with a pungent, sickening odor.  
  
A long sigh initiated the release of small skittering noises through the rubble that made Toki want to turn for the exit. He swallowed his fears, stood uncomfortably by the oppressive piles of ripped trash bags, broken glass and split wood. His lower jaw fell, but no words dared to leave him. The choke returned, two-fold, and Toki tasted the undertones of an abandoned apartment begin to coat his tongue and nostrils. He shifted, and noticed the stickiness already clinging to his clothes, exposed arms and face.  
  
In front of him, Magnus shook.  
  
Unsure of what to say, Toki took a meager step, only to hear something snap under his weight. A few feet away, surrounded by the waste, Magnus shirked, shoulders hunching and spine curling at the sound. Toki tried for another, and this time felt the tip of his boot begin to crush some fragile thing. Not garbage, but a memory, a relic of the man Magnus used to be, before he became obsessed with revenge and Dethklok. In front of him, Magnus sank, cracked under the building pressure, and as Toki tried to maneuver around the overwhelming mess, heard the beginnings of a wail.  
  
He forgot what he was going to say.  
  
“Magnus?”  
  
The only word he could formulate, and when it exited his lips, came out as a gentle shudder. A pitiful sound that matched the man sinking, disappearing into the filth, the product of his own design. Magnus was on his knees, fingers splayed and nails digging into a carpet caked with spoiled food and filth. The same man who tortured Toki, now glued to the floor, curling, twisting in agony. Toki heard the whispers from his brothers, voices telling him this was justice, but nothing that told him to leave.  
  
Magnus crying, bringing a hand to cover his contorting face, should have made Toki feel good.  
  
Right? That’s how it was supposed to work.  
  
Instead, Toki met anguish. Sobs filled the room, bounced off broken dishes and a cracked television screen, and Toki only felt guilt, pity and, strangely enough, sympathy. He edged closer to the core of destruction, inched through tossed blankets and dead flora, and when he saw Magnus curled on the floor, stifling a moan with a hand pressed over his mouth, knew he couldn’t reach Magnus as he was. Sunlight drained from the room as clouds rolled over, and when Toki lifted his head to catch the dying rays, saw gloomy shades left by hills of trash, and in a flash, saw the grimy walls that lined the basement. The misery that lay before him wasn’t much different from the ruins that surrounded him and Abigail, and Magnus weeping, lost of hope and light, was an uncanny resemblance to the night terrors Toki endured.   
  
He couldn’t leave Magnus here, lost in the decay. Trapped in this hell. Another basement.  
  
Trembling, Toki approached Magnus, the man who was far more than a shadow. A man who, upon grabbing Toki by the legs and staring furiously up at him, reflected the twisted version of what was, what could have been, and what could very well be, in Toki’s miserable life.  
  
He gazed into Magnus good eye, and saw only himself, gaunt and teary-eyed, staring back.

* * *

Evenings in LA were a spectacular painting, a mosaic of orange, yellow, purple and blue cast across polluted skies. Toki reclined in his seat, lips puckering around a straw leading into a bubbly cup of diet coke, when the music on the radio shifted from the upbeat of traditional classic to the drawl of progressive rock. Wind slid across the car’s outer frame, metal outlier cutting through the tempered heat like it was nothing, and Toki stuck his hand out, letting intense, west coast rays strike his arm as he brought his hand down on the passenger door. The warm metal permeated into his splayed palm, and the music inside roared with a slow, eerie array of guitars, saxes and other horns smashing out a rhythm to a song Toki didn’t know, but quickly began to appreciate once he picked up the low hum taking place on his left.  
  
Magnus’ sunburnt fingers tapped along the heavy beat, reddened face beaming, eyes shifting into happy crescents as he tore through the 710, swerving past other cars without a damn care. A sharp turn of the steering wheel pushed against Toki. Gravity forced him closer towards the frame with a sudden weight restrained solely through the work of the seatbelt. The pressure against his chest irked him, but a gust of wind had Toki soaring, head upturned and facing the sun, and the dull ache that prickled over his heart disappeared into the dry air and Californian traffic.  
  
This was a good idea. Toki closed his eyes at the sight of an incoming bridge and tunnelway. When he opened, a cascade of orange and black flashes accompanied King Crimson, disorienting, but sending a thrill as they raced through the dark. Horns and rubber tires impaled the freeway ground with their unending, rapturous stampede, but through the cacophony Toki detected Magnus’ throaty hum, head jerking and grabbing at notes that lifted his already elated spirits higher.  
  
He should have insisted on taking Magnus out earlier. Toki wasn’t sure how he’d have accomplished such a feat, but seeing Magnus uplifted, smiling freely and taking him to old hangouts, visit neighborhoods and tell stories of how he’d woke up in someone’s backyard, or played lead guitarist for a punk band whose glory days ignited and snuffed out within the period of a month, informed Toki that this outing was more than successful. This was a vast improvement from their usual hangouts, most which consisted of being cooped up in Magnus’ apartment. To think, just a few months ago, he got into an argument with Magnus over unpacking a box; now the two of them were miles away from Florida, racing across LA’s freeways in search of old antique shops, bars, hidden trails and alleys leading to concealed storefronts.  
  
“There’s plenty of life in this city,” Magnus had mentioned after they made a visit to a street littered with second-hand stores and specialty shops containing shelved walls lined with hand-crafted, painted combat boots, or brass instruments, broken pottery or globes refurbished to house fishes, flowers or cacti. Magnus led them into alleyways whose garages were makeshift arts and crafts stores, interiors gratified with depictions of alien flora, or painted with unicorns and dragons setting the stars with human faces ablaze in a green, liquidly flame. Toki picked up rose-tinted sunglasses, gold-framed spectacles whose price didn’t warrant a second glance from Magnus, but Toki procured anyways for their initial beauty and, of course, to save for the memories. Magnus’ enthusiasm to share glimpses of his past, entertain and stop at whatever store caught his interest was all so new, confounding even, that Toki only saw fit to award the grin, the chattiness and overzealous desire to explore with trinkets to commemorate sudden, but welcomed change. A pair of sunglasses, some succulents potted in a bleached fox’s skull, and glittered scorpion trapped in resin sufficed in some way, and because there were no klokateers to tell him what to spend money on, didn’t have to worry about cost. Magnus, being so improved, didn’t mind the tiny cactus seated between them in the cup holder, dragon kite or stuffed bear made of recycled band-tees stowed in the backseats.  
  
They broke through the tunnel, Magnus clearing past several more cars with his heel pushing on the accelerator.  
  
Something just off the freeway caught Toki’s attention. He lowered his shades, popped the straw from his mouth and squinted past the busy lanes and through a set of towering palm trees, spotting yellow knolled mounds littered with tombstone, decaying statues and what Toki hoped was a mausoleum. Jaw dropping, Toki instinctively reached for his phone. He couldn’t remember the last time he and the guys visited a cemetery, made up stories of the dead, crashed funerals or snuck inside a vault to try and steal a bone on a dare.  
  
He checked the time. It was too early for either of them to go around and break into tombs without getting caught, but Toki knew, given their current luck and temperament, that he could persuade Magnus to visit the unholy site by nightfall, sneak in and grab a few photos to show off later to his followers. Magnus didn’t have to be in them, either, though Toki pondered the chances of squeezing a candid or secretive shot when the older man was caught off-guard. Either way, the weedy, grassy hills and calcified crosses were speaking to him, begging for him to explore.  
  
Fixing himself upright, Toki motioned a finger in the direction of the cemetery. “Looks,” he said aloud, a smile widening when Magnus chased his finger, speed dropping to meet the encroaching sight.  
  
Magnus’s tongue clicked against his teeth, arm already teetering the wheel to the right. “You wanna check it out?”  
  
“Yeah!” Toki answered, excitement doubling when Magnus grabbed the stick and changed gears, slowing further to a moderate sixty before easing on the gas and changing lanes.  
  
The streets proved far busier at this hour, bringing an end to their high-speed adventure. With the cemetery just a few blocks away, hidden behind a wall of palms, dying trees and high gates, Toki pressed his nose up to the window. His went eyes aglow, darting about at the scenic imagery, flashing lights and signs beckoning them nearer to unrecognizable vegan food chains, mini distilleries, and other food establishments that initiated a slight rumble in his stomach. Snacks aside, they hadn’t eaten much since breakfast. The meal had been rather luxurious, in both size and taste, but the snacks they procured throughout a long day off traveling, driving around and visiting so many cool spots, were hardly sustaining, and thinking about it made Toki’s poor tummy growl. Fingering this insulin case, Toki wriggled, turning frontward before leaning and waiting for Magnus to catch his widening eyes.  
  
“Ams hungry.”  
  
Magnus kept to the road. “Hmm?”  
  
Toki was about to repeat himself, when the car made a sharp curve to the right. Gravity tugged at him again, this time bringing him closer to Magnus’ frame, face catching the raised heat cascading off Magnus’ sunburnt arms. Through the front window, Toki caught the rapid flash of rusted, iron rails, and beyond it hills covered in gray and brown speckled gravesites. The sunset cast an extended shadow over the not too distant skyscrapers and office buildings, but the front gates to the cemetery remained opened for public visitation.  
  
“Oh, didn’t realizes we was so close.” Toki bit the bottom of his lips with his teeth before cracking into a mild chuckle. “Maybe we should–”  
  
Magnus’ fist hit the top of the wheel. “Break in once we get you something to eat?” he stated, teeth clicking into a wide, fanciful grin. “Sounds like a plan.”  
  
“Breaks in?” Toki glanced at the gates, arch railings intimidating and stretching up several feet. “Ams really high, Magnus.”  
  
Magnus broke into a lighthearted chuckle. “Don’t worry, bud. I ain’t _that_ old yet.”  
  
His hand hit the back of Toki’s seat so rough it nearly startled a jump of him. Alert, Toki turned, large eyes meeting a curious stare, a flash of teeth that showed under the extending orange rays. Despite the startle, the laughter proved to be contagious, and though tensions were still lowering, Toki cracked a giggle, and before long, conspired with Magnus in the impromptu plan to sneak in at a later point. There was something alluring in breaking in, and without the aid of klokateers. He’d known the thrills of getting away with crimes, but not with Magnus. Magnus being the one to suggest it only excited him more, curious to see what they could commit together. And what a post it would make, once he uploaded the recordings and pictures!  
  
They located a place a few blocks from the cemetery: a little hole in the wall that specialized in Mexican cuisine. Toki ordered his fair share of tacos and a drink, pointed towards Magnus and informed him everything was on him (even after a day of expenditures, Toki had more than plenty of his weekly allowance to spend), but the older man refused, and ordered just an agua fresca to satiate his thirst. With his own stomach twisting at the heavenly smells, Toki fretted over money, then pride, but Magnus merely shrugged at the concerns, sipping on strawberry infused water and insisting otherwise. Again, his laughter attested to the fact, and once Toki procured his hefty bag, bottom already soaking with salty-smelling grease, forgot about the issue and immediately began downing his meal while Magnus nursed his sweet drink.  
  
They sat just outside the vendor, huddled around a small table with a crooked umbrella that barely covered them. Though hardly a meal on his end, Magnus looked happy enough. He was smiling, leg bopping to some unknown, but fast-paced beat, and his fingers darting and hitting the top of his kneecap, as though to play lead to whatever song was currently consuming his thoughts. Though not nearly as infectious as his laughter, it confirmed the day a gratifying success. Magnus was happy. He was agreeable. Nice. Grinning. He was sunburnt, but positively beaming. Hair flowing. Nothing like he had been the last time Toki visited, or the time before that, or the time before…  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
Toki stopped chewing to find Magnus staring, eyes alert. “Hmm?”  
  
Magnus broke from his straw, gnarled from constant teething. “You keep staring. At me.”  
  
Combined with the eyes, it felt almost accusatory, but Toki didn’t take offense. Not after a long day of fun. A voice alerted him it was likely confusion, a sudden break from the peace from too much staring.  
  
“Oh, sorries,” Toki apologized, the center of his cheeks prickling from being caught. “Just, really happies ams all.”  
  
The remark initiated a sudden pop, a bubble that raptured within and sent a cozy warmth to spread across his chest. A wonderful, curious sensation, and when it hit, made Toki very aware how much he’d spent watching at Magnus, not just now, but throughout the entire day.  
  
Magnus must have noticed it, too, because he broke into cheery fit.  
  
“Nice to know you’re having fun,” he said, voice full of gusto Toki barely recognized. He’d heard it before, over a year ago, when he first met Magnus at the camp. After Magnus saved him, he’d been nothing but friendly, kind, and carried the same markers of grandeur: cocky-eyed and confident, and wearing a snicker that spelled trouble. For a while, Toki pondered if _that_ Magnus had been a complete farce, but seeing him now, and possessing that same level of control, was reassuring. Calming. _Inviting_ , even. Yes, as strange as it was, Toki fixated on this more sociable version of Magnus, and desired nothing more than to get closer.  
  
As if on cue, Magnus rested an elbow on the table. The umbrella beam teetered, but Magnus ignored it, and, leaning close, said, “I’m having fun, too. Thanks, Toki.”  
  
And there it was: gratitude. Validation, not spoken in the form of an apology, or forced out through obligation, but undeniable appreciation and recognition for everything Toki had devised, from taking Magnus all the way to California, to breakfast and the desert to destroy two of the three cars, to Magnus’ sudden, but welcomed suggestion they break from the gears and drive off to see the city. It had all been fun and games, but amounted to so much. After several months of waiting, they were finally sitting together, enjoying moderate weather, citrus skies and spicy carne asada, having a good time.  
  
Toki picked up his drink. He gave the cup a stir, listening to chunks of ice crackle and, joining Magnus in admiring the setting sun, said, “Ams a good day.”  


* * *

  
  
A quick survey taking the form of a drive around the vast property revealed several weak points, mainly towards the back, where the fences railing had oxidized and rusted, breaking apart and leaving behind gaps either could squeeze through if desired. Within Magnus’ duffle bag was a towel, which he offered to Toki as a form of protection against whatever bacteria or other dangerous things might lie in the crumbling metal, and after a shove, pushed Toki through the gap without any issue. Magnus proved a much easier case, squeezing past without much of a struggle, and without the towel to help guide him through. Toki tried to convince Magnus to take the towel and avoid ruining his top and getting his bare arm nicked with chips of rusted metal, but it was for naught. Magnus pushed past the gates and continued onward, stowing the towel over his shoulder after wiping away some streaks of brownish red from the faded shirt. If there was a silver lining, it made for a good video, and since Magnus didn't seem to mind, Toki saved it with the intent of showing it to his adoring fans.  
  
Upon entry, Toki immediately raced up the nearest hill, eyes practically glowing under the darkening sky. Tombstones and grounded placards littered the area, making a quick dash straight to the top nearly impossible without maneuvering. Toki made a game of the obstacles, jumping over a few of the smaller graves with a mighty leap, only pausing to take a quick photo.   
  
“Oh, wowee,” Toki said once he caught his breath. Now dark, the cemetery adopted a more ominous flair to it, chilling and spooking Toki with unseen images of haunting and the living dead. From a distance, he could see the larger, more elaborate graves, ones yielding statues and giant plaques dedicated to old dead guys. He peered around, eyes narrowing further, trying to locate the mausoleum he was sure he saw a while back. It took a while, but after circling round the hill, spotted some ancient building with a pillared front. Something dark stood in front of it, maybe a gate, and after successfully breaking into the cemetery, Toki made it tonight’s goal to do the same with the mausoleum. He beamed, arms contracting tight into his stomach while he waved tight fists. “Ams going to take so many pictures!”  
  
“That was the plan, right?” Magnus called, slinging his duffle bag on top of the towel, stopping a moment to admire the dreary scene. He stood near the base of the hill, eyes staring out to the opposite end, at weeping willows and drooping palm trees, smaller graves littered with teddy bears, roses and melted candles. “Maybe…rough a few more things up, while we’re at it?” he added, adding a nasty snicker to the idea. “Sure, it ain’t crashing cars, but how often do you get to smash a tombstone?”  
  
“Oh, ams a greats idea.” Toki waved a hand for Magnus to join him at the top of the hill. No sooner than he did, did his phone start to vibrate. Toki paused, listening in on the familiar jingle, and quickly stopped what he was doing to answer it.   
  
He saw Abigail’s name and face at the front of the screen. “Hellos?”  
  
“Toki, you finally answered,” he heard Abigail say with a relieved sigh. She was nervous. Toki wrinkled his nose, disturbed by her reaction. “I have gears telling me Magnus drove off with you several hours ago.”  
  
Toki shrugged. “Oh, wells. Yeah.”  
  
“And you left without any escorts,” she promptly added, voice shifting from concerned to firm. The manager Abigail. The Abigail that got upset and had no trouble punishing him for various misdeeds.   
  
Toki swallowed, catching a slight, nervous lump in the back of his throat.   
  
“Something wrong?” Magnus asked.  
  
Toki turned, spotted Magnus nearing him, and shook his head. “Nothing! Uhm, goes waits over there’s a second!”  
  
He pointed to a secluded willow, hanging branches and swinging leaves draped over some forgotten stones.  
  
“G-go place the towels down there,” he demanded through a strained grin, hearing Abigail huffing on the other side of the line, while Magnus followed his finger, expression giving no clue whether he knew the severity behind the call. Thankfully, Magnus obeyed, giving a slight nod before walking off in the direction of the willow, hands already in the process of freeing the towel from under the duffle bag. Toki waited for that odd, noisy rustle from within it to deafen, then returned to his call.   
  
“Uhm, Abigails?” Toki asked, voice turning soft in case Magnus was listening. He brought his other hand to the phone, hoping to quiet down any potential yelling. “Ams you still there?” he whispered.   
  
“What’s going on?” Abigail replied, voice turning soft, but frantic. “Are you safe?”  
  
Another transition in tone; this time, Abigail sounded scared. He chewed the interior of his cheek, trying to make sense of his ordeal. First, she was happy, then snapping at him, and now she sounded frightened? It didn’t make sense. Was he in trouble, or not?  
  
“Ams safe,” Toki said, voice succumbing to an unconfident murmur.   
  
“Alright, that’s good.” He listened to a shuffle of a hand covering the receiving line, Abigail’s voice muttering something incomprehensible to someone, then returned to the line. “ Toki, I have men pinpointing your current location. We’ll have someone to pick you up shortly.”  
  
“Whats?” Toki asked, startled by yet another change in her temperament. “Ams havinks funs.”  
  
Then, it hit Toki. Abigail thought he was in danger. 

_Again_. This was happening again, and right after Abigail promised she’d talk to him first, before jumping to conclusions. Toki gulped, lips furling into a pout. He shook in place, jaw locking as their recent conversation–yesterday’s conversion–played over in his head. She promised she’d talk. This isn’t talking. First, she’s one way, now another. She thought Magnus was dangerous, even after Toki said he was safe and having fun. It made no sense. None of this made sense!  
  
“Magnus drove off with you without any warning. According to my men–”  
  
“Okay, but whats do they knows?” Toki snapped back, left hand dropping into a fist. “Nothinks! They didn’ts hang outs with Magnus. Magnus wanteds to takes Toki to goes sees the city. That’s what we dids. Ams all”  
  
Abigail groaned. “Toki, you’re getting defensive. I understand–”  
  
“No, you don’t!” Toki snapped back. His hand clenched the phone, not minding the sharp spikes edges rubbing into his fingers. The pain only fueled the mounting frustration. “You promised me you’d listens, but you ams getting upsets at Magnus again.”  
  
“I’m upset because your safety–”  
  
Safety? Toki cringed at the word. It carried so many suggestive meanings. It meant she didn’t trust Magnus. Better yet, Abigail didn’t trust Toki to be out with him, alone. Without the armed gears and constant supervision. She didn’t think he could handle it, would get hurt without someone to protect him, look after his poor, helpless self.  
  
Abigail was going to try to save him. She was going to ruin their perfectly good day with unwanted heroics he didn’t need or asked for. She had the audacity to think she was doing him a favor.   
  
She was going behind his back.  
  
She–  
  
“–Toki, are you listening to me?” Abigail’s voice broke through the steamy veil clouding his vision, pulling him back into the conversation he almost successfully drifted away from. He saw the branches swaying in his peripheral, and the night filling with starlight’s and flashy beacons cast in the far distance. Cool air surrounded, but failed to break the heated layer emitting from his face, shoulders and arms. Through his anger, he heard orders directed at him. “Toki, can you tell me exactly where you are right now? Or describe it, maybe? We have a pinpoint, but there’s an issue with static–”  
  
Lips formed into a nasty sneer, and Toki lifted his thumb over the screen and the small, red phone, ending the call before she could finish. His phone returned to the home screen, and Toki waited. His dethphone vibrated just a few seconds later, and Toki, still upset, put the call on silent, then stowed his phone back into his pocket before reaching for the sides of his aching temple.   
  
Why do people lie to Toki? She promised she was going to talk to him, but instead she jumped to her own conclusions. Toki couldn;t be left alone. Like it was his fault. Maybe it was…maybe he shouldn’t have left without warning. But then the rest of the day? No, she was wrong. Abigail was his friend, but she was still wrong. 

Toki huffed, spilling hot air through his nose. The side of his head still ached, but the throb started to dull when he remembered he was still with company. A long sigh, and the nasty thoughts containing meaningless threats and imagery died. The sounds of boots stepping on dead leaves, snapping twigs, forced Toki to try and do the same with his anger, and cast it into the silent winds.   
  
He accepted the inevitable. She was tracking him, and knew at some point, would have to face her. Upset, Toki stomped to the willow, finding Magnus on the other side, resting on the towel. Hanging from one of the lower branches was the duffel bag and, seeing it, Toki removed his disguise and tossed it, relieved when it flew and fell on top of the closed zipper. Cool air breached his sweaty brow, calming him some, but when Toki wiped at his head, revisited the call, and knew the day would eventually end with klokateers demanding he face his manager and some unimaginable punishment.  
  
“You ok?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Magnus scooted to one end of the towel. Toki half-expected him to pat the newly appointed space, but, instead, Magnus retracted both arms, bringing them around his legs. He hunched forward, eyes on the gravesite. “You were quiet…kinda just staring out?”  
  
“Oh, nothinks,” Toki said, shoulders dropping at the words. He carefully approached, unsure of what to make of the space, if it was an invitation, or if Magnus was trying to inch away from an awkward conversation. “Just a calls. We’s probably gonna haves to ends hanging outs soon.”  
  
“Ah, figured.”  
  
“Sorries.” Toki stood before him, eyes shifting between towel and man.  
  
Finally, after some awkward pause, Magnus gestured to the free space. “Sit down.”  
  
With a stiff nod, Toki joined Magnus, taking a seat next to him. A few seconds passed in complete silence. Toki detected Magnus uncomfortably holding on to his legs, creating as much space as he could between them, only to then give up and, with a frustrated huff, free and let his legs fall forward. Suddenly, a nasty bout of anxiety poured into Toki’s belly. He dropped to his boots, eyes glued to the scuffs that decorated the tip.  
  
The movement next to him ceased. “Uhm.”  
  
“Yeah?” Toki inquired, leaning close.  
  
“You…don’t need to apologize,” Magnus said, head lowering as Toki tried staring.  
  
His hair rolled over his bony, covered shoulders, making him appear smaller somehow, like his whole body was trying to think of a way to leave Toki with enough room on the towel. It was almost funny to think about, and when Toki tried searching for Magnus under the shadows, found traces of it and thought his overall expression was softer, _welcoming_.  
  
“I had a great time.” Magnus lifted his eyes, finding Toki there, waiting for him. “You really went all out for me. And it worked.”  
  
Another great pause. Toki continued to stare, eyes giving off those tender feelings, that blessed feeling of validation and approval, but jaw sinking as he fought and lost against the reality, the upcoming end to their time together, and the strange hurt it caused and sent coursing through Toki’s entire being. It made sense. He had a great day with Magnus; it was only natural that now, with Abigail and his klokateers on their way to pick him up, he’d feel so torn about leaving. It wounded him more, too, because of all the progress he’d made. Magnus was so lively now, and if Abigail only knew just how much this day meant to the both of him, how it changed Magnus, then she’d realize he wasn’t a threat.  
  
“Thanks again, Toki,” Magnus said aloud. “For the day.”  
  
Just like the gratitude he’d shown before, the words rang true and lifted Toki’s spirits. It wasn’t without its consequences; again, the pain that stung him returned with a horrid vengeance, and Toki wished he could stay a little bit longer with Magnus.  
  
“Ams no problems,” he said. Toki hung his head on top of his arm, giving a little sigh. He forced a smile. “I wanteds you’s to haves funs. Glads it worked!”  
  
He turned his head, facing Magnus. The man had his arm lifted, fingers outstretched towards him. Both men froze once they registered another. Magnus caught reaching to console Toki, and Toki, surprised by the very gesture, silent and unsure of how to react. The branches above swayed, casting dead leaves across the hill. The sounds of silent wails drifted over the hills, out in the graveyard, sending a soft shiver down Toki’s back as he settled on Magnus’ form. How frightening he appeared with just the moonlight cast above him, one eye aglow and another a dark void fixated on Toki’s silence. Like a familiar predator, ready to unleash his claws upon his quiet, willing prey. But the winds had some equal influence in the matter, blowing hair up and revealing Magnus’ thin frame, and sending pleasant chills that he reacted to, reminding Toki more of the man than the monster, the man he’d spent all day playing with. This man that, despite his flaws, made Toki feel welcomed, safe. He trusted him. Didn’t mind being around him, and with the dropping temperature, thought it fit that they, given their lack of layers, should get a little _closer_.  
  
If only Abigail could see this version of Magnus.  
  
“Well, how about we end our night on a high note?” Magnus stated, picking himself up and breaking the would-be contact with a sudden, hasty rise to his feet. Toki stumbled back, heart skipping and falling into his stomach once he found Magnus stretching and dusting his pants of any leaves and dirt. Dumfounded, he remained situated on the towel, eyes only widening when Magnus offered his hand again, this time in the form of support. “What do you want to do?”  
  
“Oh.” Toki’s ears burned as he fought to reclaim the last of the day’s goal through the doubt spreading across his mind. “Breaks into a mausoleums?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Magnus replied, then gave his hand a slight shake, as if to prompt and remind Toki of its presence. “Come on, let’s get you some likes or thumbs-ups or whatever.”  
  
There was something about the change of its intended meaning, and the sting that settled across Toki’s front when he tried sorting through the significance behind the gesture, but then Magnus splayed some fingers again and, afraid that he might retract the offer, Toki grabbed his hand.  
  
“Rights,” he said aloud, forcing a smile that couldn’t compare to the excitement now riddled across Magnus’ which, for whatever reason, only increased the odd pang.  


* * *

  
  
The gate surrounding the mausoleum was tipped with dull, rusted arrows. As Magnus proved before, its intimidating stature was hardly a challenge to get through. Standing at only six-feet high, the gate was more decoration than barrier. The dried, browned remains of vines from unkempt roses, emaciated bushes filled with chirping crickets, added to the evidence that this was passable, and it took only a few minutes for Magnus to locate a spot they could jump without retaining any damage. A few kicks that echoed across the silent hills broke an arrow from its top, and then another with a well-aimed attack from Toki who, after witnessing the arrow fly and hit and shatter a window, just had to get in on the action. It was the gate leading into the entryway, an opened space guarded by old, thin rails, that stopped the two from going any further. Unlike the surrounding gate, the long, rusted poles reached just inches below the arched, opened entrance, and the space between each bar, though wide, wasn’t enough for either man to squeeze past. The two each gripped a rail, pulling at every height, and detected some weaker points in the metallic frame, but their combined strength wasn’t enough to bend the metal wide enough for either to pass through.  
  
Magnus wheezed. Out of shape, just making the attempt to bend the metal exhausted him to his limits. There was the energy, the drive, but several hours of running around was starting to wear on his muscles. His arms were sore, cores numb and unaffected by the cold breeze. Everything was tight, and the sweat he had worked from pulling the metal stung his hot, sunburnt skin. There was also the issue of his heart, though the loud beat that bellowed inside his eardrums paled with the raging stress and panic starting to set. Standing just a foot away, and using one of the stone pillars as support, was Toki. And Toki was upset. Very upset. That stupid manager of his said something to irk him, and now he was shutting off, and there was nothing Magnus could do to fix it! He had to fix it, too, because after doing so well and staying on Toki’s good side, warming him up and getting along so damn well with him, Magnus went and screwed it all up with that stupid, stupid attempt to touch him.  
  
_You see how he reacted when you tried comforting him? Guy fucking froze._  
  
 _You made it worse._  
  
 _And now this failure._   
  
“Maybe we’s should gives ups,” Toki said through a heavy exhale. He eyed the small amount of concave bend performed on the innermost rails, and shook his reddened face. “Ams not reallies workinks.”  
  
Those were the words of defeat. Bad enough to hear it in the first place, but hearing it from Toki cut at Magnus’ pride. The thrill of the day died at the words. The memory of the drive, the high Magnus achieved when he raced across the desert and against the sweltering sun, was a mere black and white image, a still frame that carried little meaning or emotion at the sound of Toki’s sigh. The joy was gone, and Magnus, in some sad attempt to bring that smile back, fucked up and now they couldn’t get in and things were falling apart!  
  
Magnus couldn’t let it go. There had to be something. A solution.  
  
The beams were bent. His hands were burning. He needed more strength. A thing to bear the burden.  
  
“The towel,” Magnus suggested after a heave. “I have half a water bottle. If I soak the towel, then maybe we can bend the railing.”  
  
Toki stopped lifting the ends of his hair to fan his neck, “I don’t knows abouts–”  
  
“ _Trust me_ ,” Magnus hastily replied, almost to the point of it being snappish. He saw Toki react to his remark with a minor jolt, barely noticeable under the starlight and limited lighting provided by streetlamps not smothered by the elongated trees huddled near the gate, but every tiny movement was carefully observed and scrutinized by Magnus.   
  
Toki doubted him. Magnus already lost Toki to the whims and meaningless concerns of his manager; he was not going to lose what little faith he restored earlier in the day. No matter how small and insignificant it might seem, he needed Toki to smile at him again, grab his arm and laugh into the dusty wind and trust him. For once, just trust him completely.  
  
He stared at Toki, brows fighting to furrow and turn into an aggressive stare. Why did Toki doubt him so quickly? Toki said they were friends, right? 

_No, no, calm down. He’s just upset._  
  
Magnus pointed a finger towards the distant hills taking up the latter half of the cemetery, at the unseen willow bearing the duffle bag and the towel cast underneath. “The wet towel will work,” he said through a tightening jaw. “I know what I’m doing. Just give me a few minutes to grab my things.”  
  
It wasn’t until Magnus was done, and he saw the white of Toki’s eyes flourish under the shadows, did he realize how much of a threat his words had come off as. His left eye twitched, nostrils lifting and inner self cringing at his words.  
  
Before him, Toki stared. His lips parted, and Magnus, fixated, both longed to know, but loathed whatever words might slip from the younger man.  
  
“Okays.”  
  
Magnus turned, shoulders sinking and body relaxing as Toki supplied a thoughtful nod.  
  
“If it doesn’t works though, we gots to hurries and takes pictures near thems angels by the corners, ok?” Toki added, coming closer towards Magnus and, under the moon, shined a light that nearly swept away all the doubt. Toki raised a finger, towards the distant hills, and like the windows cutting across the fields laden with stones and death, lifted Magnus’ spirits from the earth.  
  
Confidence simmered upwards, refueling Magnus and lifting a grin from him. “I’ll be back in ten minutes tops. Just you wait, man.”  
  
“Okays, but tries to hurries.”  
  
He didn’t need additional reminding. Magnus rushed to the fence and jumped over it, eye twitching at the subtle sting incurring across his palm, but otherwise remaining determined in his plight. The hill where he left his belongings was, at best, a five-minute walk away, less if he cut through the uneven, gnarled land. It was dark, but the rising moon provided enough light to make out most of the gravesites. Once he reached the tree, he’d get the towel, see if there was a fountain nearby to fill his bottle, and then use that to twist the gates open.   
  
A simple enough plan, and with a goal in mind, Magnus rushed through the graveyard, cutting through and not minding any molded stuffed animals, dried roses or broken candles he accidentally crushed or kicked on his way to the hillside. As he neared the hill, Magnus thought he heard something settle across the fields. He stopped, head raised and good eye focusing on the sound, hoping it was just some animal searching for food. What if it was security? The cemetery was far from attractive, and if the copious amount of dead and dying plants indicated anything, probably didn’t have the funds to hire someone to oversee the land after dark. Still, there was the chance it was staff, and Magnus didn’t see how he could avoid trouble with the authorities if it was the case. He could try and call Toki for help. That would put a damper on the night, unless Toki used his fame to pass through the blasted gates? Oh, but that wouldn’t do. Magnus shirked the thought aside. No, it had to be him. He _had_ to be the one to make it up to Toki. If he did, he could get over that awkward moment, that instant where he succumbed to his damn emotions _, again_ , and dared to bridge a gap he had no right crossing.  
  
Then Magnus froze, entire body turning rigid once he detected hushed laughter and words mixing, spewing out a delighted tone that didn’t set well with him. Without moving, his eyes lifted to the hill, in the general direction of the tree. It was difficult with his eyesight, and with no damn phone to light his way, but with a long enough squint, accepted with an immediate grimace that the source of the noise was coming from up the hill. Specifically, behind the trunk of the willow. A sickening feeling overcame Magnus, a sense that something was about to go terribly awry. A flash of his day carefully replayed, starting from the exact moment he decided to take his pills with him, stow them inside the duffle bag, just so he could fail to take them and drag them around with him for the duration of the day. In the dark, Magnus watched himself slowly consider leaving his belongings in the limo, but being too paranoid, distrusting of the klokateers and whatever information they might spread across their grapevine, chose to take his belongings with him. The bag had his clothes. His phone, too! Magnus clenched his teeth, feeling absolute hatred towards himself for being so thoughtless, too comfortable for his own damn good!  
  
Magnus began the long, slow ascent up the hill, listening in on the conversation taking place on the other side, and letting the occasional shake of something hitting plastic fuel the blackening embers already coursing through his veins. There wasn’t much point in trying to fight the anger; Magnus already knew he wasn’t going to like what he saw, and would ultimately have to do something about it. Nobody touched his stuff without permission.  
  
He stopped just as he caught sight of the base of the tree, vision clouded by a reddening veil, and the overabundant blanket of leaves that covered the three figures huddled on the other side of the trunk, reading aloud the set of instructions for taking his medication. One shadow was clear enough to assign a number, and Magnus was sure he had heard another, but didn’t want to make a move until he was quite sure. Even through the rage, he could devise a plan. Though there was a fire burning across his nervous system, a heart racing and shooting adrenaline straight into his brain, Magnus stilled, focused on the voices and his prescription bottled rattling and alerting him of what was now at stake.   
  
“I don’t know ‘bout this shit, man.” Magnus made out the first speaker, but couldn’t see them through the swaying leaves. “Sounds like fucking crazy pills.”  
  
“Don’t mean we can’t sell it,” said another voice.  
  
“Ya think?”  
  
Three voices.  
  
“For sure. Will prolly sell better than this phone.”  
  
Three. Versus just himself. And they sounded relatively young, too. Given the subject of their conversation, a simple explanation wouldn’t suffice either. No, these bastards were going to sell his property whether he tried being diplomatic or not. A merciful route would be foolish, stupid even. They were going to sell his things! His things, and for what? Cheap dope?  
  
Magnus dropped, falling into a squat. With his left hand, he scooped a clump of earth in his hands, fingers curling inward and breaking through blades of dying grass, slumps of moist dirt, and anything that might impede his attack. Other than the tree, there wasn’t much else in the line of defense. The tombstones would only serve to get in the way if either of them tried running, not that Magnus would flee. He couldn’t fathom a scenario where the three would be so generous, nor would give them that pleasure of watching him turn tail. Once Magnus made his move, he’d have no choice but to fight, and if he was destined to go down, would bring at least two of them with him. He’d make them suffer all the way, too. He didn’t need a knife to break skin, didn’t require a blunt object to break bones or make someone suffer.  
  
He stood, hand clenching his single round of sand. The pop of a cap muted any thought. Magnus bit his inner cheek, drawing blood while his unknown perps were fondling his damn meds with their unclean hands. There goes an entire bottle. No way he was going to touch a pill, much less swallow it, after such filth sullied it. Lacking any subtly, Magnus approached the tree, undeniably pleased that none of the three picked up on his presence right away, and made a note that the prey was either inebriated, stupid, or both. Either worked in his favor, and gave Magnus permission to encroach without warning, turn and enter the shroud.  
  
The first one to notice Magnus was the one nearest the branch. It came as no surprise that he had the duffle bag in his arms, yet when Magnus tried to make out the bastard’s shadowed expression, felt himself starting to lose control when he thought he saw the outline of a smile. Then, all turned, and Magnus could see how poorly outmatched he was in comparison. They had numbers, wore devastating stares that signified some experience, though to what extent was still in the air. But their snickers and grin pissed Magnus to no end, and although he lacked the element of surprise, continued forth to the man closest to him.   
  
The chuckles and jeering died, and the man approached, arms slowly lifting to build up his already broad frame. “Can I help–”  
  
Magnus threw his arm up, initiating an immediate response from his attacker. The man raised both in return, ready to take a blow to the chest, but Magnus opened his palm, casting sand outwards and hitting his victim’s unprotected face. A hiss, and the man fumbled back, swearing at rubbing his face. The other two were alert, heads raised. Magnus felt their unease, and as they contemplated stepping in, drew his right hand into a fist and thrust it into the man’s left, where his kidney resided. An airy howl blasted against the ground, a dry heave, and the first man dropped to his side. Magnus heard the fall, the nylon material of his jacket rubbing as he tossed and turned to cover his afflicted organ. The fall brought a quake, sending a powerful pulse up Magnus’ legs and spine. A yell had blood pumping, warming his chest and abdomen, soaking his brain with a wave of congratulatory endorphins, every muscle with delicious adrenaline and bloodlust.  
  
“Holy fuck!”  
  
Magnus raised his head up from the scene, back to the two men now slowly encroaching.  
  
“Goddamn. Travis, you okay?”  
  
The one with the beanie shook his head. “What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, hand shifting, reaching for some unseen weapon.  
  
Never had such a stupid question infuriated him. Chest heaving, Magnus pointed to the duffle bag now barely hanging off the man’s arm. “Don’t. Touch. My stuff.”  
  
“Stuff?” the other one asked. Without moving, Magnus’s stare drifted to his right, towards the other now raising the opened, orange bottle filled with pills. He gave the container a little rattle. Magnus heard the rustle of medicine, and scowled at the two. “You mean this?”  
  
Somehow, Magnus knew what would come next, and sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his temptation rise at the sight of the hand tilting, shifting the bottle from upright to its side, and watched a stream of pills cascade out from the opening, and unto the ground. His pupil followed, catching the off-white color of mood stabilizers hitting the filthy ground, scattering around disgustingly obnoxious shoes, and listened to sounds of moans get covered over snickers and laughter. Beneath him, the man shifted, coming undone from the dull pain brought on from Magnus’ last attack. No more sand to aid him, and he still had several bottles left unaccounted for. Oh, but did any of it matter now? He was missing one, and he needed all to work together. Otherwise it gets too much. This is too much. All of this. Too much. Can’t think straight. Can’t. Let. Go.  
  
There came an elongated groan, and the man underneath turning to rest on his back. Magnus saw his chance, lifted his leg, and brought it down on top of the ribcage, forcing as much weight and force as he could. He felt the bend of bones groan and vibrate across his rubber sole, and he pushed down harder, earning an airy, yet wet grunt. The two men before him stopped laughing, and for a few seconds, coughing and choked whimpers filled the air. Regret filled the eyes of one man, jaw dropped at the sight of foamy, red spit collecting around his compatriot’s lips. Now that he had their attention, Magnus lifted his leg again and, as if to prove some point, decided to jump, slamming both boots on top of the man’s gut. Another wet cough, and a pathetic groan, and man flopped on his side again, arms cradling what Magnus hoped was a broken rib or two.  
  
The moonlight gave just enough away for Magnus to make out a bloodied nose and mouth. 

“S-stop…”  
  
_S-stops it, please._  
  
He’d heard the plea before, and upon registering that distant voice, refrained from yet another onslaught. Satisfied at the impression he left, Magnus turned at the two, expecting them to turn and run at the sight of blood. He had witnessed the effects of a similar attack, and knew how frightened they were of him. He could smell their fear, see the white of their eyes as they considered their options, listened to their poor compatriot suffer a bruised kidney, broken ribs and punctured lung. They wouldn’t fight. They were scared.  
  
They lunged.  
  
So, it was going to be a fight. With both going at him at once, Magnus hurriedly formed a fist, resigned to the knowledge that he’d most certainly lose this, but allowed that clouded veil, smoke and fumes set ablaze at the sight of his medication scattering into the earth, smother any doubt in his mind. He waited for the first to get close, and made for a swing, coming up short and grazing the asshat’s side. He was left in the open now, and with two men on him, knew he had a split second to build space or defend himself. Magnus could already foresee the consequences of trying to frighten off his attackers, but when he heard the man underneath groan, decided to stand his ground and make another swipe.  
  
He threw another punch, this time hitting the second in the jaw, but the attack wasn’t enough to fend off his foes. Screams bellowed underneath him as shoes and boots intruded, violated his helpless victim with unintended attacks from both sides. Above, the one with the beanie drew back, covering his jaw while his friend jumped at Magnus, tackling and forcing him to the ground.  
  
His head slammed into the earth, bouncing once before getting hit with the rushed impact. Air forced itself out from Magnus lungs, and he coughed out.  
  
“Fuck!” Magnus clawed at his attacker, bringing his nails straight to the eyes. Predictably, his right hand was swatted away, brought down by the stranger’s; however, Magnus’ left made it as far and pushed his thumb into the socket. He felt the soft sheen of skin, the round bulb of the eye, and pushed his thumb into the corner, snickering at the grunt and apathetic cry that ignited from his attacker. He drew back, hands blindingly swiping at Magnus to create some space, and the second he saw the chance, Magnus threw a punch at the man’s neck. It wasn’t enough to knock the Adam’s apple into the throat, but serviced a brief choke that had the man coughing and struggling to remain on top of him. Despite the crushing weight, Magnus snickered. This man didn’t know how to fight, didn’t know how to effectively protect himself against pure, raw rage! He drew his eyes to split legs, the unprotected groin, and readied his next attack.  
  
Then, Magnus heard crunching on his left. He turned, saw the tip of neon blue and orange swinging towards him, and when Magnus finally turned away, felt the dreaded blow ring against the side of his head. A kick. Then another, this time turning the ring into a numbing clout of gray and nothingness. Magnus scrambled, kept his arms raised and swinging to give the impression of activity, consciousness. His brain drowned under the pain, and when the third blow arrived, began sinking and filling his vision on his right with dots of red and black. He couldn't see out of his right. The fire in him burned, killing the pain and demanding that he keep going, but when Magnus tried to swing, only hit air. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t fight.  
  
Hands gripped his wrist. Magnus struggled, fighting to free his legs from the weight, but earned another kick to his side. This time, he felt it, and writhed at the sharp, heated sting that struck his waist.  
  
“Scotty, hold him up.”  
  
A voice blurred through the fog, muffled and muted, but alerting Magnus he still had to hold on and continue fighting for his life.  
  
“I’m trying.”  
  
He flung his arms outward, hitting the man’s side, smacking shoulder, tight muscles that were prepared against his dwindling strength. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Magnus tried kicking up his legs again, managed to get the fucker on top of him to sway and reconfigure, but felt another blow to his side, this time hitting him right in the ribs. He felt the threatening bend, and wheezed an airy groan once the pain overwhelmed the adrenaline and shock.  
  
“Motherfucker…finally got you.”  
  
Warm air settled over Magnus, then victorious laughter. Pain returned. Magnus stared out, one eye filling with specks of red, the other a faint flicker of frightening shadows that only alluded to the hell that awaited him.  
  
“Yo, check on Travis,” the man above him said, then wiggled towards Magnus center before grabbing and holding him down by the wrists.  
  
“You got this?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, pushing more weight on top of Magnus. Pissed, Magnus flung himself forward, but only managed to move him and his oppressor a few inches, at best, before succumbing to the pain now pulsing throughout his skull. He felt back, mouth falling open as he fought for air.  
  
Then, something hit his cheek.

 _Spit._  
  
“I’m going to fuck you up, crazy mo-fo!”  
  
Magnus winced at the murky shadow. This was the one with the beanie, right? Was he the one that had a hidden weapon? Did it matter at this point? There were two of them, and just one of him, and he couldn’t possibly defend himself. Magnus knew. It took far less to break and kill a man. Magnus knew. Had to think. Needed to go. Trapped. Fight. Beg.  
  
“You hear that?” a distant voice echoed across his blurring consciousness, sinking under the growing shadows that were threatening to consume his remaining vision. “Shit, don’t tell me he got backup…”  
  
“Hey, asshole!” A hand freed his wrist, only to hit the other side of Magnus throbbing head. “You got friends we oughta know ‘bout? Better answer quick, fucker, cause–”  
  
“Holy shit!”  
  
Magnus drew a short breath as the unseen figure in front of him shifted, turning to whatever caused the sudden outburst by his partner. He remained fixed, heaving at the unknown, muffled sounds barely reaching him, minute vibrations that registered, but failed to determine the reason behind the gasps.  
  
“Oh my gawd, are you Toki Wartooth?”  
  
His right eye still stung, and his entire head felt like his brain was swelling against the skull, but hearing a dreaded combination of words, _that_ name, forced Magnus’ eyes wide open. Somehow, during his fit, he’d forgotten about Toki. Magnus shook, body trembling under the weight, but still appearing rigid as he stared blankly into the reddening sky.  
  
Toki was here. He blinked, watching the red droplets spread and sprinkle across his vision, listening to the change in tone of his capturers’ shift from threatening to lightheaded, and his stomach turned. The fire twisted, quashed under heated shame at his miserable sight: blind and helpless.   
  
Then, a yell. Magnus turned, drawn to the source. “T-Toki?” he coughed, only to earn another strike to the face. The blow cut into his cheek, bringing his incisor to tear at his flesh. He shut his mouth, tasting his blood, and tried to stir as much as he could with the filling saliva, cough and spit it out and call for the man.  
  
“What the–”  
  
Another yelp, though this time Magnus knew it wasn’t Toki. The voice was too low, he thought, but was too afraid to turn and see. The sky above him glowed, filling with a red mist. He blinked, vision clearing. The sky did not change, and continued to illuminate. Ice cold fear dragged across his veins.  
  
“Are you fuckin–Hey, what’re you–?” Then, the weight on top his chest ceased, and the shadows above him vanished, leaving Magnus to the red, murky sky. On his right, he saw some blur, a movement, followed by a sad cry for help. His heart raced at the sound of a fist crashing into a chest, capsizing lungs under brute force, and sending another airy plea to rupture into the winds. He heard a low growl, a staggered breath. Toki’s rage. Magnus shook, eyes staring at the deepening mist consuming the clouds above, turning the sky into a hellish sea as Magnus listened and twitched under each, loud smack. Fist against the face. He just knew by the muffled cries, the wet mulchy sound of cartilage crumbling. Reflexes told him to turn and run, but something else would not allow him to move. A devastating sensation, an animal’s intuition that alerted Magnus to remain still and not capture the attention of whatever screams and cries, wet snaps and pops, were incurring just feet away. It was all out of sight and, if Magnus was willing to obey that gut-feeling, out of harms’ way.  
  
Wet tears stung the corner of his right. Magnus realized he needed to blink soon, react to the dying pleas taking place besides him. His fingers spread across the earth, feeling the slight tickle of grass underneath. He raised a pained brow, detecting the odd sensation of the blades stiffening, turning dry and crumbing at his touch. Tears coated his already murky vision, forcing Magnus to shut them and face the awful truth when he reopened them: the sky was, in fact, red. He swallowed, turned his head away from Toki yelling, screaming at his victim, and stared, gobsmacked, at the yellowing grass dying and shriveling around him. The pain around his head began to ease, and with clearing eyes, could barely make out the drying, cracking earth.  
  
“Don’ts touches him!”  
  
Magnus shivered at the demand. He wiped his messy face of sweat, spit and dirt, and though he was terrified of what he might see, turned around. A few away, he caught Toki’s hunched form, broad shoulder and arm stiffly position, and hand holding up a limp figure by the collar of his shirt. He sniffed, catching the coppery scent trailing across the still air, and when he parted his lips, realized not only that his inner cheek had healed, but that the metallic flavor in the air was not a result of his blood mixing into the air, but was a strange machination occurring around Toki.  
  
“Don’ts fucking touches him! Don’ts!”  
  
“Holy shit,” Magnus murmured, attention steering to the silent, limp bodies that covered the earth. He lifted a hand, waved it near the body closest to him, and grimaced when he saw the misty speckles collect and form suspicious droplets across his palm. He dropped his hand into the earth, shaking it furiously before bringing himself up. Not a single muscle in his body ached as he staggered forth, hand covering his mouth and nose while the other reached for the rising, bloodied fist. “Toki!”  
  
He grabbed Toki by the wrist, feeling his clammy hands slip, friction unsteady under a layer of stickiness. The moment his grip held, Magnus felt the power. The burning heat seeped through bones, tendons and skin, and rose higher, reaching his flesh and sending a pronounced tingle, an energy Magnus recognized, but had only the displeasure of witnessing once before. He hardly had time to process the alien sensation now traveling up his arm, when Toki jolted, entire body flinching under Magnus' touch.  
  
Toki relinquished his hold. The body dropped, falling to the floor with a noisy thud, sending dry earth and dead leaves to break and scatter across the air in a dusty cloud. Magnus shuddered, watched the red fog start to fade. Eyes still facing the ground, Toki growled. _“Don’ts.”_  
  
Magnus pulled back. “I–”  
  
Touched him.  
  
Touched a god without permission.  
  
“Magnus?” Shock blanketed Magnus as he met two, round teary eyes peering at him, bottom lip curling to get pulled in by clicking teeth. A shiver, then eruption of chattering sounds, frightened movement made worse as the fog cleared, the winds shifting to its natural dark hue, and dull pain returned to remind Magnus of the injuries he procured. It was a mere discomfort compared to what he had experienced minutes before, and knew it had something to do with the reddening mist, Toki, and the horrendous silence now consuming them, but couldn't bring himself to dwell on the potential source of that energy, certainly now that the fog had dissipated.   
  
“Hey,” he muttered, watching Toki raise and stare dumbfounded at his torn, bloodied knuckles. Hair clung to his pale face, and when Toki blinked, shown dazzling tears that reflected clearly under the moonlight.   
  
Toki glanced down at his work, then hiccuped a noise. Returning to Magnus, he staggered a whine. “Magnus, ams… _Toki_ ams…”  
  
Faced with the eyes of a god, Magnus could only think of one thing to say.  
  
“Sorry,” he whimpered through pained words.  
  
Toki shook his head at him, then, with another sniffle, pointed at the unconscious man lying on the ground. “Didn’ts means to…”  
  
Toki wasn’t mad at him. Magnus gulped, chest working up a disorganized rhythm as he gave a nod.   
  
“It was a mistake,” he stated. He tried not to appear too relieved at the news. Magnus inched closer, eager to console, but hesitant, afraid of the potential consequences. “You lost your–”  
  
Arms opened, and before Magnus could step back, had Toki grab and pull him into a needy embrace. “Am sorries you gots hurts,” Toki bleated through coughs and cries.  
  
Magnus didn’t know what to say. Toki embraced him, was holding him like his life depended on it, but? He glanced ahead, past the trembling shoulder, at the dead, cracked ground, and at the three limp bodies. Though normal now, the air around them had picked up a red mist. Blood, or something else? Something godly. Magnus didn’t know, wanted nothing more than to get an answer, but only felt Toki’s shaking body latched tightly around his frame, and could barely process a thought with his cries drowning his senses.  
  
“M’sorries. Magnus, your hearts medikaskons.”  
  
Magnus swallowed. He’d forgotten all about his meds. His stabilizers. And poor Toki; the poor guy thought the pills he found on the floor, the chalky bitter medication he probably stepped on his way over, were for his heart.  
  
A warm sting trickled across his chest, and Magnus carefully brought an arm up, let it hover over Toki’s back, then rested itself on top of it. There was a slight shiver, but once he settled, felt Toki’s hold strengthen.  
  
He fought against a smile. “It’s…ok, Toki.”  
  
“Ams sorries.”  
  
“It’s ok. I’ll be fine,” Magnus insisted through a whisper. He waited a few seconds, listened to Toki cry into his chest, stretching his patience for as long as he could before bringing his second arm up, and returning to Toki that familiar, longing embrace. The mere act sent a powerful hit Magnus was afraid would occur when got this close, but managed to control it long enough while Toki sniveled and cried. He let those awful noises keep him sober, his mind from reaching into a dangerous zone.  
  
“Sorries.”  
  
_“Shhh_.” He pressed his face into the younger man’s crown. Through a lidded stare, he enjoyed the natural perfume, the lovely scent of sweat and fine shampoo, admittedly getting lost in it, in those softening cries, and a hug that was quickly turning selfish, deepening in strength and closeness. Magnus felt the urge, but held to those whimpers, Toki saving and being so concerned for him, and told himself to wait. Toki gripped him so tight, but Magnus ignored it, tried refraining from imagining Toki fighting for him, and instead, kept hushing him, repeatedly telling him it was ok, they would be alright.  
  
And Magnus has no reason to think otherwise. Everything would settle, and the two of them would come out absolutely fine. He didn’t need to dwell on those facets for too long to jump to the conclusion, and while Toki calmed under this touch, felt the beginnings of a smile form. Elation climbed up, out of his heart and into his throat, and as he breathed in Toki’s scent, wondered if there was still time to take a picture, to get a smile on the man’s face before leaving and racing to the nearest hospital.  
  
Toki brushed up his chest, lifting his head up after a long, tired sigh that pushed out the rest of his tears, concerns and weaknesses. Magnus felt the silky drag and, afraid of getting caught and confusing Toki, promptly separated and severed their hug. He tried parting further to give the man some space, but as he drew back, had Toki’s mangled hand slide over his arm, fingers itching to furl, but stopping just seconds before Magnus slipped away. The two glanced at the subtle contact, and when Magnus tried to come up with some supportive words, found Toki staring at him in the dark. Though red surrounded each pupil, Magnus found himself entranced. Like the reddening sky before, his body froze, but instead of rigidity, softened under the mere thought of Toki grabbing him again: reaching, pulling, and selfishly gripping him. _Fighting_ for his sake.   
  
There was still a chance to save this night, Magnus thought. He could fix this, wipes the tears away with promises of a night filled with entertainment and distractions.  
  
He didn’t have much time to revise a plan.  
  
Massive lights beamed down on the cemetery, right as Magnus dared to envision himself bridging that small gap he’d created. Toki stumbled, covered his eyes with an arm and nearly tumbled into the hard, dry ground as a rush of intense, controlled winds propelled into the land. As Toki rubbed his face, Magnus stood, hand covering his brow and shading him against the many lights. Engines roared across the sky and, were it not for the red glow signifying the darkened shapes were aircrafts, might have given Magnus a heart attack.  
  
“Oh…” Somehow, Magnus heard Toki’s mumble behind him. “Abigails…”   
  
“TOKI!”  
  
Magnus paled at the booming voice tearing through the numerous engines and mighty propellers. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the number of helicopters circling around them, at the unseen figure that bellowed Toki’s name. With the lights trailing across the land and over them, it was impossible to make out more than the figures of darkly clad servants, but Magnus already knew which member of Dethklok had bothered to accompany them on this rescue mission.  
  
Of course, _that_ woman would send him.  
  
“TOKI! WHERE ARE YOU!”  
  
Magnus glanced over his shoulder, at Toki who, reflecting him, seemed to carry a new sense of defeat at the threatening boom that now echoed across the skies.  
  
It was Nathan.


End file.
